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| - Vendetta - Sunday, January 17, 2010, 6:25 PM Shark's Rib Beyond the barracks and past the soundproof barriers is the NCC's residential tavern, the Shark's Rib. The walls and ceilings are a deep blue colour, and various lighting creates a shimmering effect. Large curved support beams above the ceiling provide a protective cage over the recreational area. Energon flows through transparent spiral-shaped piping behind the bar to the right of the entrance, indicating to even the most over-energized Decepticon where to go to for a refill. Bartenders are available to dispense energon of various grades and blends. For people willing to part with more imperial credits and who know who and how to ask, the good product is kept under lock and key. There is seating at the bar for Decepticons of various sizes. There are also numerous booths for large groups. There is a small exposed area to serve as a dance floor with a raised level in front of it, complete with all the equipment necessary for public announcements and live group performances. Due to the lack of importance to the overall Decepticon mission, even more aesthetical decorations have been put into the Shark's Rib. Thin metallic spirals decorate the bar area, the furnishings and the walls. Music is often played through hidden speakers - often trumpet music, but also classic Imperial soldier tunes that every Decepticon knows well. Boomslang enters the Shark's Rib. Fusillade enters the Shark's Rib. Vendetta is currently sitting not far from the bar with both feet on the table and a glass of finely distilled energon in one hand and a datapad in the other. Boomslang pauses briefly to look around as he comes in before making a beeline for Vendetta. "Hey," he says, pulling a chair out and spinning it around to sit on it backwards at the same table. This is more comfortable if you have a lot of back kibble, which he does. "Looks like somebody's making a bit of a splash. What's your story, ghostface?" Slogging in through the doorway, coated in faintly radioactive dust, Fusillade collapses into a bar stool and groans out her order to the barkeep "Nnn-flnn." Vendetta looks up from his datapad with a very serious face. He eyes Boomslang for a few seconds and cracks into a big a smile. "Bonsoir mon ami. I vould offer you a seat but you already made yourself at home. Ghostface..." he fiddles around with the datapad and wiggles it at Boomslang "From what I read it is /you/ are zhe ghost non? The slippery one who turns invisible. Neat trick by the way." Vendetta takes his feet off the table and sits straighter. "My story is most simple. Zhe old F-15 model is showing signs of age and someone in engineering thought it would be a good idea to explore ozher designs to potentially replace zhe F-15. Hence...here I am." Boomslang grins unevenly. "Well, I don't like to talk about myself. That's nice though, to see some innovation. This thing is kind of..." he's gesturing with two fingers at his upper lip when Fusi comes in, and he pauses, props an arm on the back of the chair and twists around to see who smells like Mexicans. "Working hard in Scrapper's yard? Hey, have you met this new guy? He has a beard and he's already done the trial-by-fire of snatching victory out of the jaws of Blueshift's stupidity. He's a Dassault, too." Vendetta he notices the femme-bomber making an entrance and looking like she might have seen better days. He fakes a bit of modesty at Boomslang's comment "I cannot take all the credit for the team's work but I teach a severe lesson to that aerialbot pup. All attitude and no substance." He turns towards Fusillade curious about her reply. Boomslang wobbles a hand noncommittally. "Depends. Which one was it? Fireflight, maybe. Air Raid or Skydive, and you'd be underestimating them. You can be proud of splashing either of those guys, they're as formidable as any of the front line Autobots." Vendetta looks at the ceiling trying to remember the name and a big smile crosses his face "Ahhh oui zhat one. Air Raid. Carved him a nice big 'V' across zhe back so he would remember who put him down." he says patting the rapier hanging from his waist. "I do not usually do zhis sort of thing but...Il a couru apres (He asked for it)." Fusillade's taloned hand flops back down on the counter once she establishes that the drink is on its way. She doesn't quite look up at Boomslang and the Rafale until the white high grade with a shot of jet fuel is plunked down in front of her. She chugs it, slaps the now-empty cube back on the counter, and creaks back to a more vertical posture. Patting away the red dust coating her frame, she turns around in her seat, spins slowly, and rearranges her folded wingblades in their hip holsters. "I feel a little bit more normal now. Hi, Vendetta. And yes, Boomslang. The scale of the project is big enough that we'll be kept occupied for quite a while. Although it makes getting our ducks in a row for the rookie exam kinda hard to do." She begins eyeing Vendetta's blade. "He always does," agrees Boomslang. "But not everybody can give it to him. Good work, there." He turns back to Fusillade. "Oh, this is Fusillade, she's the bomber. She's handy with a long blade too, actually, have you two met?" Vendetta smiles and gives Fusillade a deep polite nod. "No I have not had the pleasure of meeting the dame before. Read about her on the roster though and I must say it /is/ a pleasure to meet you executrix yes?" Vendetta checks out Fusillade's wingblades "A fellow connaisseur of the blade! Splendide! Most so-called swordsman I have met are little more than barbarians hacking away vith swords as if they were very thin axes. I am happy to know zhat is not always the case." "If he reads reports, he'll know who I am," Fusillade coolly brushes aside Boomslang's solicitous introduction, while getting a very quick start on her next high grade ration. "Haven't had much call to use it lately, actually," she admits. "Depending on how good you are there with that thing, I might help myself to some of your spare time and go through a refresher on some of the finer points of the art. And my servos ain't so hot when it comes to hacking, so I am... obligated to rely more on deflection and technique." She narrows saffron optics. "Like to get a chance to see you guys in action," Boomslang remarks, ejecting his combat knife out of his wrist and snatching it out of the air to fling it into the dartboard with a dull thunk. "I'm always ready to pick up a few new tricks with a blade." Vendetta grins "I would be honored to be of service if you need to work on your parry and riposte techniques. Rapiers are very thing and people often dismiss them as flimsy sword but they faster and much deadlier than most people realize. I stay alive by relying on deflection, speed, precision and technique." He takes a sip from his energon glass. He watches Boomslang's trick with the knife "Zeems vee also have something in common." A flick of the left wrist a long knife ejects and the blade splits in three like a mini-trident. "Ma main-gauche...Useful sometimes for parry, locking or blocking a blade. I am not a knife thrower though. The main-gauche is not balanced for zhat." Boomslang gets up to go retrieve his giant titanium ka-bar. "That's a neat trick, the three blades. I'd say it looks like it'd be good for breaking an opponent's blade too, but considering the big ol' choppers carried by the few Autobots who have anything like that, probably not, eh?" Vendetta nods "Indeed! I am likely to use it as a block and lock tool against their blades. Easy to create a opening when you hold the tip of zheir blade. Kinda like the train leading zhe wagons pull the tip and zhe rest follows." "Aw c'mon guys, don't tell me we're really doing this," Fusillade utters under her intake at the two, before standing from the bar, bringing her drink over, and sashaying toward the table where Boomslang and Vendetta are seated. She sets her drink down on the table, and with a wry quirk of her metatite lips to broadcast 'I'm humoring you two', she unholsters her left wingblade, and furls it to its halfway mark. No less than eleven segments slide over each other with a metallic hiss until it locks into its halfway position, the sections corresponding to wingflaps on the wing's trailing edge peeling back to reveal the business portion of the weapon. The entire affair looks like a swallow's tail. "This is how I usually catch and deflect, so I see where you're coming from," she says. "Ooooh," says Boomslang, admiring Fusillade's big knife. Vendetta chuckles Fusillade's demonstration and raises his glass "Haha looks like vee vill be very good friends then. I see bright and interesting future for aerospace. Who knows maybe we can raise the bar a little because from I heard aerospace also has it's share of idiots." "Well of course it does, that's why I got out," Fusillade deadpans at Vendetta, SNAPPING her wingblade closed. "However, I do echo your sentiments. You're a more subtle suck up than most, Vendetta. Thank you." She return-toasts. Boomslang jerks his thumb towards Fusillade and explains, "She's in Ops now for some reason. Why is that, anyhow? You're a plane, you should be with us. I don't like how Harrow's in Engineering either, if you ask me. Seems unnatural." Vendetta raises an eyebrow a la Spock "A seeker in engineering? Seems indeed unnatural. Ve were not made to toil around laboratories. Ve vere made for combat, to establish, defend and maintain zhe Decepticon's air superiority." He turns to Fusillade "I /am/ curious as to why you got out of Aerospace to go with Military." "Cause I'm not a Seeker, DUH," Fusillade snaps defensively, and takes another quaff. "Well, you're not a Terrorcon or a tank or whatever either," points out Boomslang smartly. Vendetta is being a smartaft...a little bit. "Not unless there is a third mode hidden in there no?" "Hnn, bet both you'd like to know THAT, wouldn't you?" Fusillade sasses back, although she continues to avoid the question of 'why Ops?' Boomslang goes over to poke idly at the jukebox. "I think if you had a set of tracks hanging off you anywhere I would've noticed it by now." Vendetta drinks a bit and ponders carrying on with the poking but decides to give himself a chance given he's just the new guy...for now. "Ahhh vomen and zheir secrets. Vhis ok, gotta respect some degree of privacy yes?" Vendetta's choice of words were regrettable -- in this case, him chalking up Fusillade's behavior to a stereotype is a much worse offense than prying. With an audible 'whoomph' of its surface whipping through the air, Fusillade once again is unholstered and jabbed threateningly at Vendetta's face. "Don't call me a woman, don't call me a femme!" she spits out, "I am a -warplane-!" "I think he might be programmed to do that," points out Boomslang. "Look at the beard." Vendetta does not back away but slightly adjusts his posture to something a bit more laid back giving himself a few inch of space "And a feisty warplane at zhat! Vhich brings us back to our original question. Vhy is a warplane away from it's brethren?" Fusillade settles back down, draping herself over a seat as she mulls over the reasons herself. So much of the war had always been react, react, react... "Incompatibility with a prior Air Commander. Easier to function as an agent for Shockwave if he's in my direct command chain..." Boomslang shrugs, causing all the stuff stuck to his wings to rattle. "Well, Air Commanders change. I don't think I even know who the current Air Commander is. Not like he's been commanding me, at least." Fusillade breaks out into bubbly, mirthful laughter. "Come back to Dreadwind in charge? No thank you!!!" Her laughter becomes progressively more mocking as she wraps arms around her waist. You say, "Ahh oui bien sur. Of course. Commander Shockwave. I can see vhat is nice about working with him. He is probably more predictable and less prone to stupid endeavors than your former Air Commander yes? It's strange vith the recent changes in command...Did you participate in the contest to lead aerospace?" "Is that who it is?" muses Boomslang with a grimace. "Ugh, I was better off not knowing." Shifting position in her seat, Fusillade's expression darkens. "I wasn't too particularly pleased with Avalanche's attempts to 'advance' through the ranks by challenging me to combat. As nice as it is to blow people up, it's not exactly the be all and end all of being a Decepticon. The Aerospace command thing was also combat based." Boomslang holds out his hands in the universal 'no sir!' gesture. "You don't want to get one of those division head positions if you can help it, Vendetta. It's just a lot of paperwork and jackasses trying to steal the right to do that paperwork by excessive force." Vendetta shakes his head "Those...jackasses should be shot for threatning the productivity and stability of the Empire. Nobody can win this war alone and we all need to work together. Shoulder to shoulder through fire and hell until we achieve total supremacy. Putting good soldiers in the med ward on the basis of advancement in rank is stupid." Finally finishing off her second drink, Fusillade stands. "Well that doesn't stop it from happening unfortunately," she answers Vendetta. She shoots Boomslang a nasty look about rank being useless, and then begins to withdraw to mope about how unfun she has become. :< "Well, it didn't amount to anything last time, regardless," Boomslang replies with a snicker. "The high commanders took a dim view of Avalanche's suitability for command." Vendetta smiles "Zhen it sounds like this Avalanche got what he deserved for being stupid. Lack of judgement and inability to respect his superiors and likely his subordinates had he succeeded. Those leaders never stick around for long. Either their incompetance catches up to them or someone in the unit /deals/ with them." He orders a third drink (he was on his second when Boomslang walked in) "Mm, there is that!" Fusillade concedes to the pair of Seekers, but this does nothing to delay her. Boomslang nods sagely. "Fragged by one of your own. Speaking of which I'm going to go check up on my student and make sure none of the other trainees have stacked the deck before that tournament, whenever it's supposed to be." Boomslang leaves the Shark's Rib. Fusillade leaves the Shark's Rib. ***** *** * * * * * * *** *** **** * * *** * * * * *** * * *** *** ** * * ** * ** * *** *** *** * * *** *** * * * * *** **** * * *** * * * * *
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