Log Title: At the Jump Joint
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.
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 tick when it got out of range and 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.