Date: November 01, 2016
TP: End of Days TP
Summary: Floodlight meets an unusual Decepticon at the Jump Joint.
As logged by Floodlight - Tuesday, November 01, 2016, 10:03 PM
Jump Joint - Kaon
The Jump Joint is a bar in Kaon.
There's noise. Lots of it. In fact suspicions could be raised that extra noise was taken without the owner's consent to make that noise. If the din could be distinguished it'd be noticeable it's an engine. Over that is, unmistakably, Counterpunch singing the theme tune to Knight Rider. There's... logic? He's a Pontiac too. What's important is, wherever someone's sitting... it better not be by the window.
... Too late.
Counterpunch turbo boosts into the air... and lands just shy of smashing his way into the bar. He transforms and neatly walks in, already slighting two cigs which, unbidden, burst into flame. He then calls out, "Hey kid, the usual!!!" He's never drank here before. So, while confused staff work that out Counterpunch just looks around to see what he can see.
Floodlight is a small, unassuming Decepticon femme. If it wasn't for the purple logo featured prominently in the center of her chest, most people would never associate her with a faction known for being an "evil empire." Her head seems a little large for her body, and is protected by a bulky blue helmet. Her face is a pale violet, with big crimson optics and a small mouth. Her body is dark blue and slender, with a violet chest plate sporting a large purple Decepticon sigil. Her arms are slim and violet, with little light-purple wings. Her hands are a deep blue matching her frame, ending with long delicate fingers. Her legs are extremely long, with violet thighs and navy blue calves. Her feet are slight and blue, and point downward when she hovers in robot mode. Her overall manner is shy and unassertive, and in a large group of Decepticons she seems to quickly disappear into the background.
Floodlight is sitting at the bar by herself. She jumps as Counterpunch makes his unusual entrance, and turns over to goggle at him with her large crimson optics. When she sees who it is, she shrinks a bit in her chair, trying to look invisible -- usually an easy task for the shy, quiet analyst. He turns back to face the bar, staring intently down at her drink. Her cooling fans click on as she tries to stay calm in the face of more outsize personalities.
Trying to establish what Counterpunch has for a usual was a mistake. Asking something as simple as 'What do you want?' evoked responses such as "World peace... kidding!", "That one. No, make it a double!!" and several not suitable for viewing in any medium. Eventually he orders some drinks for himself, some people he only refers to by number and some enercookies for someone called Four.
Diving over the bar and fixing himself the various requested items Counterpunch then takes a tray laden with everything he ordered in one, cigless, hand... throws a towel over the other then sprays 'nix behind the counter, around the bar trickshots a rather ambitious tip jar with the higher denominations. Walking straight up to the table Floodlights at Counterpunch says, "You order these? Oh. No. Wait. I did. Right." Counterpunch then sits as the tray and towel stay floating. He waves his invisible waiter to serve and asks, "So kitten, what's your name? If you got mine too it'd really help me out."
Floodlight's large optics somehow get even larger as she glances around quickly. Is this guy talking to him? Oh, no! "Uh, I'm Floodlight," she stammers. "You're Counterpunch," she further answers, taking his question seriously, just in case. She glances between Counterpunch and the floating towel in confusion. She rapidly grabs her drink, gulping it down quickly as she watching Counterpunch over the rim of the container.
The tray floats and lands neatly on the table. Too slow for Counterpunch so he says to the towel, "You're demoted to... not that! Lose all towel privies!" He snatches the towel, also concealing that he's been using the antigrav from his flight system to make the 'waiter' and, had he not taken the towel away someone might have guessed the trick when it got out of range and it fell to the floor.
"Hey there." He says now turned back to the only other real person in the discussion. "I'm... you done that, right, cool!" Counterpunch makes a faceless friendly smile. "Woah, easy there. I'll not be able to keep up if you hit them back that quick! Want another?" He waves across the tray which, if described as a menu item... would be 'the lot'. He tips his head to the side. "Almost tryin' to use that as a shield brightside. You okay?"
Floodlight looks confused at Counterpunch's shenanigans. She quickly slams her empty container back to the table, straightening up and keeping her optics on Counterpunch. At the offer of another, she shakes her head rapidly. "No," she insists. "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's OK." She looks around the bar, but no one seems anxious to come to her aid -- everyone else in the bar is suddenly busy with drinks or conversations of their own. Floodlight turns back to Counterpunch and hazards a nervous smile.
Counterpunch remains mostly impassive but follows Floodight's gaze as she looks around the bar. once she smiles The crazy counter intell speaks a little less sharp, a little more smooth, a little less talking at and a little more talking to. "Easy there." he starts putting his hands up, empty save his twin cigs, "If you've heard the one that I've not got a screw loose... more there's not a single bolt or screw fully tightened... yeah. That's true. But that ain't gonna do me any more harm than it already has."
He the takes a deep draw from the cigs and, on his outward vent, creates a smoky sculpture. In this case a half open door. The thin magenta smoke's quite see through though and Counterpunch continues, "You keep overclocking with stress there and you'll short something. So, look, a jar. Close it and it becomes a door. I'll be gone before the smoke clears. No harm no foul. Open it and just two people at a bar. Not the strangest thing I ever done but not everything's a showstopper, y'know?"
Floodlight nods quickly and looks down at the table. "Sorry," she squeaks quietly. "I didn't mean to insult you." She picks up her glass to take another sip, realizes it's empty, and sets it back down. "Uh... that's a neat thing you did with the smoke. Do you use micro-currents of air for that?" She gives Counterpunch a nervous smile, but does her own attempt to interact with him instead of just shying away from him.
Noting the lack of a drink when Floodlight tries to take a sip, Counterpunch clicks his fingers and points to his not-drinking-yet-companion. Relieved it's not the doublespy making the order someone rushes over to see what Floodlight wants. Counterpunch says "On m-" Then he pauses. the shape of his optic brow gives it away but, as far as questions go...
"...I'm impressed. Nice one. Mixture of things." He slowly turns the cigs round in a repetitive circle, the smoke ring gaining more and more vibrancy and definition with each twirl and rotation. "The formula makes the smoke extra... sticky to itself. Part of it is a lot of time sneaking off for a smoke when I should be doing something else but... mainly it's the performance. That's the real trick. The devils in the detail of what people do and do not see. It's a trick, a very good one and not just used by me."
Floodlight nods slowly, listening and watching. Social interaction stresses her out, but processing data -- that's her jam. She watches the cigs turn and the smoke ring gather. She analyzes the density and movement of the smoke, and a small smile touches her face. "It is a good trick," she agrees at last. "A good distraction as well -- it draws the optic." She acknowledges the distraction even as she welcomingly gives into it, studying the smoke ring rather than look at Counterpunch directly.
The server arrives and Counterpunch says, "It's useful. A distraction, a misdirection, telling people what's on my mind... telling them what I want them to think what's on my mind... making them think I've no mind to start with." He shrugs. "Usual stuff." Another draw and slow outward vent adds some shapes to the ring. some vents clear other areas. Once done it's the theatric mask, half laughing, half crying.
"Easy spooked but switched on. Floodlight's an apt name for you. You're bright. So... why come to a place filled with the worst types that... let's face it... is a dump." He then looks up at the server and says with the high orbit of lunacy in full fanfare, "It is a dump, aint your fault kiddo, drink, same again..." He then looks confused as the server stands frozen, "... go. Don't make me ready-set. Umpire I'm not. I can get a great tan!" Self preservation kicks the server into action and away from the table. Counterpunch then sits casually taking off the need for optical contact pressure and listens carefully.
Floodlight looks around as if surprised at the question and just now realizing where she is. In general, Floodlight analyses everything but her own thoughts and motivations. "Well," she says at last, "There's not a lot of places to go in Kaon right now with the weather outside so bad, and... well, I needed an anonymous place to sit and think." She frowns. "I didn't intend to meet anyone -- not that I mind, I guess," she says, looking down at the table.
Counterpunch looks around, then shrugs, "Well, if I were an estate agent and not an intelligence guy I could, at least, say the place has character. As I do do the spy thing I gotta more focus on the characters in here." He leans back on his chair, apparently looking at nothing, and syas quite quietly, "Well. Floodlight. Shine around the room and have a look. See what I mean. My maniacal message reaches far and wide. So some people are spooked, some scared, but which do you think are trying to subvert their sins?" The kitten's smart. Let's see what she's got.
Floodlight glances around again, this time a little less obviously. You can almost see the data start to flow behind her large crimson optics. "Well," she says quietly, glancing up at Counterpunch, "The mech in the corner has been quietly been meeting with people all night. He has a drink in front of him which he hasn't touched all evening, and all of his conversations are quiet and short -- not the social type.
"He watched you enter and has been keeping you in sight, but hasn't reacted otherwise. Analyzing the pattern of interactions suggests an element of organized crime. Some of those who approached him match descriptions of those encountered recently by Scourge in Crystal City." Floodlight mentally pulls up thousands of recent reports from all over the planet, instantly cross-referencing them and pulling from them the data she needs.
Another shift of his optical brow indicates Counterpunch's surprise. "Nice one kitten. Now I can expense the drinks on this one. I'll be done before you can say..." He stands, photonic cannon in hand, and takes a stride towards the figure indicated.
As he fires he says, "Dr Black..." Another stride and another shot, "In the candlestick..." And again for the excessive force award. "With the library!!"
Picking up the heavily scrambled yet surprisingly unharmed individual the bouncer steps in from outside the door. A new record in terms of 'dumbest things ever! - the movie!!' Counterpunch drops his fellow parton and potential prisoner, sails across the room and into the, now confused, bouncers arms. "Oooh! All big an' strong sir! Lets see how smart you are kiddo. Megatron can hear from my little ear that I found this guy a-smuggling in here or you can have found him out on the street and detained him for me. Outside. Once I've had my fill of fun but Mega-man'll hear you barred his bar. Choose."
Counterpunch climbs down and laughs. The sound of the damned. The melody of all hope lost. The beat of those maddened past caring anymore. The bouncer, with great insight, drags the figure out through the front door. Returning to his seat Counterpunch sits and says loudly "This is fun! Who's next!!??"
More quietly he adds, "Now see if any of thse sicko's want to mess with the kitty-kat that tells the psycho what to do... hmm?" Reputations are important. If nothing else there's no way that the shy spooked Floodlight's gonna be marked as an easy mark any more. Behind his faceless face Counterpunch looks proud of himself and swings on the chair happily once more.
Floodlight can't help but break a shy smile as she looks down at the table. It's easy to tell -- she's kind of liking this. She waggles her large head in the direction of a small black and purple Transformer at the end of the bar. "While everyone else was staring at your antics, that one turned away -- as if not wanting to be seen. I did a check of the roster of every Micro Transformer assigned on Cybertron -- none of them have leave to be energizing here tonight. He should be on guard somewhere. I can cross-match his description with the assignments of every base I have access to and find out where he should be and who his commander is." Her crimson optics sparkle.
"Ahh. Now... should I give him the full treatment for sneaking a drink? Or should I shoot with a camera rather than a gun for this one? Let the chain of command choose how much he needs a choking?" Counterpunch asks curiously. He's having fun of a different kind. Usually those he speaks to are left behind. Someone who can keep up with the full maniac act... it's interesting. Refereshing. And, for a performer such as his very unstable self... he always craves an appreciative and uncaptive audience.
Floodlight hms. "Maybe report him, and I'll track the disciplinary action up and down the line. Besides, he's a little guy -- he wouldn't give you much of a challenge." She continues to keep her face down, but she glances up at Counterpunch from the corner of her optic. "I've identified him as Road Hugger - he reports to Blackjack. He's supposed to be patrolling the Titanium Turnpike. I think he's AWOL." Her small smile widens as she glances down again.
Counterpunch does stand a second time and says, "Can't hurt to help speed the little one on his way though!" His faceless face is grinning. Spinning objects in and out of subspace he finally finds what he was looking for. A cloth and an aerial broken off of something. Better not to ask. Tying the cloth over his head, effectively blinding himself, Counterpunch unashamedly crashes and smashes his way off of furniture pinballing his way towards the mincon's minicon. "En guarde! En guarde! This ringing any bells kid?"
The Zorro'd Counterpunch seems to be countermanding his blindness as, whenever the microcon sidesteps the doublespy matches his moves doing comedically bad impersonations of swordplay. "Parry, riposte, touché!" Counterpunch says, neatly threading the aerial through a gap in the other con's armor and, effectively, nailing him to the roof. Taking the mask/blindfold off Counterpunch says, "Hang around kid. I'll call for help for you. They'll be real keen to see ya." He returns and sits. "See, work can be fun, you just gotta find the right gag for the giggle!"
Floodlight does giggle at the situation, and looks around a little more boldly now, as ne'er-do-wells start to sneak out the front and back before they find themselves next in line. She finally settles on one of the few mechs remaining, sitting alone by himself at another table, occasionally scowling at those sneaking past him to get out of the bar. "Him," Floodlight says softly. "He was modified during the brief Cobra-Con alliance. He's still got a Rattler altmode," she smirks.
Counterpunch stretches and flexes his joints. He then downs a significant number of the drinks on his tray... Oh, he's not done yet... right. The drinks are though. Counterpunch then, in a cross between mass destruction and origami, smashes the glasses and folds them into the tray. "No high-grade crimes on my watch. Or his." He says pointing to the other Counterpunch he sees.
Taking the makeshift maracas and letting them float and shake he then finds the beat and tap-tippity-tips over in some kind of terran dance over to the grumpy bot. "Dah-dadadadada-dah-dah! With milk!" Counterpunch announces to a blank response. "C'mon kid... With milk. Au lait? Ole? Wow. That's pathetic. I just can't. Whatever." He pats the rattler on the shoulder and starts to walk away dejected.
By the time anyone realised there's a grenade stuck to his victim... Counterpunch knows it's too late. Watching gleefully as the white milky liquid pours from the planted device, rapidly solidifying and encasing the target in... "Riot foam!" he explains turned back to Floodlight. Looking over to the bar he says, "Garcon? Le fromage est dans le libre! Oh. right, put that in a doggy bag and I'll take it with me. He can come to my little asylum... see if I can't cure all his ills..." He finishes darkly.
Sitting back down he notes, "I call it an asylum 'cause I'm a known looney. Really I'll see if there's not a way to reformat him as Vector Sigma intended. The road may be long and hard but... we'll either pull through or he'll die trying!"
"I'm OK either way," Floodlight says quietly. "I never liked him." She giggles at the sudden reflective power Counterpunch has given her. She looks around again, but by this time most of the other patrons have left -- either from fear or simple annoyance. She looks at the remains of Counterpunch's drinks. "Do you need another drink?" she asks. "I think this one should be on me." She glances towards the bar to see if any of the wait staff is still around.
"Sounds peachy!" Counterpunch says then leans in for a conspiratorial whisper, "Those other twelve me's though... don't get them anything. They only show up once I've had a few." Counterpunch then sits back neatly on the chair carefully avoiding the gaze of the wait staff. See if they've learned something today. As to care is to share. He's in intelligence so, no matter how skewed his take on reality, that's what he's got to share. Learning can be fun kids! Just remember the references and bring enough ordinance for everyone!!
Floodlight raises two small, slender fingers, gesturing daintily to the remaining staff peering worriedly from behind the bar. "Two more please!" Floodlight squeaks in a voice not used to being raised. She glances around the emptying bar with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. She's also in intelligence, but it's in the analysis side, and she's never felt its power of intimidation before. She looks to like it.