| abstract
| - Six Lasers - Bar Moon That's no moon. It's a Bar Moon. Roughly a quarter the size of Earth's moon, Bar Moon is one of three Nepsan Lunar Satellites. The Moon has no breathable atmosphere, but a massive indoor city covers the entire surface. The city is one bar after another, ranging from safe, nearly family oriented pub and grills to sports bars to raunchy strip bars. There isn't a liquor for any alien species that one can't find on this moon. The one combining factor is that every bar has televisions set up to watch the Olympic games. Advertisements and tourism info booths are set up for those seeking transport to other attractions. Bar Moon is a major transportation hub, second only to Grand Central Station, with shuttles and cruise liners often leaving for most of the attractions. Artificial gravity wells keep the gravity close to Earth's, though after chugging too many back you might not notice. COME ONE, COME ALL.. TO THE DRINKING COMPETITION TO DEFINE DECADES! Or so the banner strung across the street read, directing participants to the RUSTY-ANCHOR for 2031's unofficial event of boozing. The streets are packed with onlookers and mighty competitors, all pregaming with games of pong and 3-Mech. Vendors are peddling their flimsy wares and finding a bunch of drunkards to pass them off on. Outside the Rusty-Anchor is Bruno, a large mech-like gorillia bouncer who throws the rift raft out and allows the challengers entrance. Do you dare go inside?? Sandstorm doesn't care if this isn't an 'official' event. The Wrecker is not going to pass up a chance for guzzling large amounts of elicite ener-liquor for an actual purpose. It'd have to be the end of the world as we know it to keep him away, and even then, he'd probably be here after the fact to drink off the results. "Com'n guys, this'll be great! Especially if a bar fight breaks out too." Americon dares to go inside! Smirking, he shoves his way inside the bar, and cracks his knuckles confidently. "I am here to compete... IN AMERICA!" he lets everyone know. Windshear was walking down the street with no particular place in mind to go when he reads the banner. With a shrug the Seeker decides to enter this contest. Hes got nothing better to do. He walks up to the gorillia mech (like) and points to the banner. "The tab free for this?" he asks and steps aside as he notices a few other Transformers heading for the contest. Cutthroat swaggers in, full of Terrorcon overconfidence. The truce has him figuratively crying in his beer lately, and this is a good excuse to drown his sorrows. "Me drink USA-bot under table!" he crows, sounding every bit like a bird in his robot mode as he does in his monstrous altmode. "All things considered.." Grapple starts to say to Sandstorm. "You would think we would try to AVOID fights." Why he's even there, even the architect isn't entirely certain. For the most part, he had been bored without anything needing to be built or sketched out or designed; so, there he was. And, strangely, eyeing the beverages. Steeljaw's golden hide is probably hard to see among the rest of the crowd lining up to enter the bar, but he's still there. Apparently even tapes need a little bit of unwinding now and again, especially when the truce has him temporarily out of a job of tracking down spies. Either that, or he lost a bet with one of the other tapes. Which is probably more likely. "I'm sure he thinks that a fight while drunk won't count against the truce," Steeljaw jokes, grinning as comes up beside the other autobots present. "Come, gather round now! Grab yourself a drink and a chair, while we set the final little things up fer ya!" so shouts a large squidlike alien wearing a bright yellow fisherman's jacket. "Settle down now. Name's Barnacle Bob, no relation to that sponge rectangle pants feller neither." Waitresses rush around the bar, setting out tiny drinks for the competitors and taking orders from the fans watching. The Rusty-Anchor is decked out in sea farer regalia: nets, alien-fish plaques, harpoons, old pictures of catches, etc. "Now, those who are looking to test their mettle in this here FIERCE competition, need do nothing but step up to the white line!" Barnacle Bob points to a hastily white paint line smeared on the floor. Americon glares up at Cutthroat. "NOOOO. I am already under the table, but once you are under the table due to being PASSED OUT, I will use your unconscious body as a stepping stone to be OVER the table!" Once Barnacle Bob points to the white line, Americon hustles over to it. "Haha, I am entering, and will defeat the other contestants... in America!" Windshear shrugs when he gets no answer and walks in. He finds a seat where the others are and sits down. "Heya Steeljaw. Com'n Grapple! Even you tech types can stand to unwind now and then." Sandstorm gives the architect a slap across the shoulders with his arm before trotting up to the line without another concern on the matter. "This ain't even the right -system- for America, featherbrain," he snorts at the goofy tape. Grapple gives Sandstorm a dubious stare. Still, he looks from the line for several seconds. Then, with a shrug, he steps up to it. He doesn't appear the least bit excited. Or happy. Or anything, really. Steeljaw gives a chuckle as he steps up to the line without hesitation. "This will at least be interesting, no matter what happens," He muses, head raised a bit. He sniffs at the air a little, picking up the different scents of the drinks. And probably analyzing the scents as well. Barnacle Bob laughs heartily at the contestant's theatrics, "Oh my, you sure are a lively bunch now aren't ya? So, which one among ya has the sterner stomach to handle it? Don't answer that, rhetorical and all." The Rusty-Anchor's matrons pull two large tables from the backroom and set them in front of the competitors. Before long, six large frosty mugs are set upon the table top, filled to the brim with tap Ener-brew. "Your first challenge, is to take down this frothy brew as quickly as possible! Hurry now, clocks ah ticking!" Combat: Grapple compares his Strength to 60: Failure :(Combat: Steeljaw compares his Strength to 60: Success! Combat: Windshear compares his Strength to 60: Failure :(Combat: Sandstorm compares his Strength to 60: Success! Combat: Americon compares his Strength to 60: Failure :(Combat: Cutthroat compares his Strength to 60: Success! Theres some stuff Windy can handle well and some stuff he can't. And the contest opens with a type or enerbru hes has never cared much for. He chokes down most of it but finaly has to put the unfinished glass down when systems try to go into reverse. Sandstorm pfffts. "They're starting us off light. You might need a straw Steeljaw!" Teasing aside he snatchs the mug as soon as there's a go command, kicks back his head and gulps it down in a matter of seconds. "Aaaaaaah." Considering this leg of this contest of sorts is based on speed, the momentary pause Grapple takes just to stare at the large mug may seem odd. When he finally does take hold of the mug, he does take long gulps, but otherwise doesn't really seem to be trying. Did he show up just for the free drinks? Was he bored? ...Eventually -- long after everyone else -- , he sets the empty mug down. Steeljaw quickly hops himself up to a level where he can get at his own mug, then flops down on his haunches so he can brace himself. Straw? This lion doesn't need no straw! He brings his paws down on the edge of the mug and tips it, bringing his muzzle on the edge so that he can at least moderately guzzle it down. And guzzle it he does! Eventually he just grabs on the edge of the mug to down the rest of it, ending with him looking somewhat silly with the large mug clasped in his jaws. Setting it down again carefully, his systems flicker briefly, making him hiccup. "Whew! That was good stuff." Americon snags his mug and chugs it down with great patriotism! Alas, the brew is a little too much for his tiny body and he goes stumbling around the bar, arms flailing! "Hurp... that was.. a little... TOO American!..." Cutthroat slams the entire mugfull down. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and burps. "That easy," he says, "Where more?" After all, the Terrorcon drinks as fast as he shreds Autobots! Barnacle Bob slowly bobs his head at the contestants, chugging away mightily. "Gold cat, Orange dune-buggy, and weird winged looking robot finish their drinks in record time! Everyone else better finish up quick!!" A judge walks the tables, making sure the mugs are completely empty before they're allowed to progress onto the next obstacle. The finished mugs are cleared from the table's surface, and replaced with six small shot glasses of a light pink drink. "Next challenge, throw back each of these drinks in quick succession.. and remember, NO SPILLAGE! Dripping yer drink results in having to start over!!" Combat: Cutthroat compares his Accuracy to 70: Success! Combat: Steeljaw compares his Accuracy to 70: Success! Combat: Americon misses himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Sandstorm compares his Accuracy to 70: Failure :(Combat: Windshear strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Grapple strikes himself with his Grab attack! Americon stumbles into a table, which he knocks over, sending glasses flying to the ground where they smash apart like grenades. "DURP!" Sandstorm snaps up three of the shots and gulps them down in quick succession, but when it comes to the fourth he tries to gulp a little too fast and sputters some of it over his metal lips. "Gah.. oops." But then he smirks as he tosses the empty ones on the table. "DO OVER!" ... Or did he miss one on purpose to get more? The world will never know! Cutthroat quickly downs the little shots so fast you'd think he was Blurr. Or maybe Cutthroat ate Blurr's powerchip rectifier? He chuckles at Americon. "You under table still. No get up." Grapple seems slightly off kilter; he shifts in place and requires a moment of balance. That first large mug apparently has begun to effect him. Nevertheless -- and still looking vaugly bored about the whole thing --, he grabs the shots in fairly quick order. Somehow, he actually manages to get it done without any spilling. However, afterwards, he's swaying a little. Steeljaw's tape track kicks ahead again briefly, making him hiccup again. He covers his muzzle with a paw, looking slightly embarassed. He eyes the glasses put down in front of him carefully, head cocked a little to the side. His tail taps once on the table. Then he bends down, grabs a glass with the tips of his fangs, and kicks it back without spilling a drop. He does it again and again with the rest of the glasses, until all of them are gone. And not a drop is left or spilled. His tape track kicks again, making him hiccup a couple more times, but he looks pretty stable. "Looks like the gold cat and winged dude are pros at this, they manage to move onto obstacle three!" Barnacle Bob shouts, as the matrons clear the finished shots. "Crane, the bearded lady, and the orange dune-buggy are on their heels though.. and the patriotic bird is pulling up the rear." Medium sized drinks are set before them now, containing a vile mix of green and gold liquids that refuse to blend. A slick red film is deposited on the top of the drink, with noxious fumes rising from it. "Now there's a drink, the dreaded and respected Glump-Gill Mixer! Fish bile and sweet energon goodness at it's finest. Let's see if these competitors have the stomach for it!" Combat: Grapple compares his Accuracy to 70: Success! Combat: Steeljaw compares his Endurance to 60: Failure :(Combat: Windshear compares his Accuracy to 70: Failure :(Combat: Cutthroat compares his Endurance to 60: Success! Combat: Sandstorm strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Americon misses himself with his Grab attack! Cutthroat downs the concoction without even hesitating or blinking. After all, he's smelled worse coming out of Blot, and even that didn't make him throw up. He looks around after finishing his round, at the competitors that seem to be in various stages of discomfort. "What matter? No like fish?" he taunts Steeljaw. Sandstorm pays attention to what he's doing a little more closely this time, snagging three shot cups between the fingers of each hand, for six total. Hoists and gulps them down one by one, and sets all the empties down with spilling a drop this time. Better. "Guess it's time to get -serious- about drinkin'," he chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of an arm. Grapple finally shows some emotion; at the sight of the sickly-looking mix with the noxious fumes, the crane lets out a small shudder. He even pauses, looking as if he's rethinking the whole 'drinking questionally hazardous materials' thing.. And then just grabs it and takes it down in on go. ..He then chokes, but, thankfully, it doesn't come back up. Didn't look like he enjoyed that one bit. Americon has somehow gotten an oversized mug on his head and is now blindly stumbling around, knocking over chairs, and eventually he knocks over a waittress, too. "EEE!" she screams. Steeljaw eyes the strange concoction oddly, his neck stretched out sligtly to sniff at the strange mix. His tail flickers hesitantly a moment. "Fish and energon? Well then!" But as they say, pride before the fall. Steeljaw manages to guzzle down at least a good portion of it before he abruptly sits back, hiccuping again a few times as he slouches against the mug. He actually looks a little sick himself for once, but in his defense, it doesn't come back up on him. "Ugh... Okay, fish AND energon, not the best combination." "Hahaha, lookit that one go! He's in last place, but can't deter that drinking spirit. Winged thing takes the lead, followed by the crane, gold cat, and orange dune-buggy. That Seeker better find out how to drink, though!" Barnacle Bob laughs again, giving the matrons the clue to bring out the next challenge. Six round kegs are rolled out to the tables, set up on the top by the burly bouncer from before. Jabbing holes into the kegs, matrons deposit long straws into each opening. "But have they what it takes to face down this challenge? Who can slurp the fastest without getting discouraged??" Combat: Windshear strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Americon compares his Accuracy to 70: Failure :(Combat: Grapple compares his Endurance to 60: Success! Combat: Steeljaw strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Sandstorm compares his Endurance to 60: Failure :(Combat: Cutthroat compares his Courage to 80: Success! Windshear ignores the comment and attempts to drink whats in the keg. Americon pulls the mug off his head! "Hey, guys, what did I miss?" he says. ".. Wow, that terrorcon is a drinking terror." Sandstorm picks the mug of 'fish and fuel', takes a brief gulp of it, then errfs as he holds it up to peer at it. Not so much hesitating, as taking a moment to actually consider the drink and the best way to get it down with the least amount of resistance. Because that slag tastes aweful! Americon stumbles over the next mug, and fails spectacularly as it spills over his face. "Uh.. do over?" slurpslurpslurpslurp. The liquid pours through the straw and down the Terrorcon's gullets. As soon as he's gulped it all down, he burps mightily. Grapple doesn't seem to have heard Barnacle Bob's rule statings, for the poor crane looks at that keg with the most discouraged 'why me' look he had ever had. Still, he lets out a deep sigh, as if he didn't have a choice in the matter, and grabs the straw. He's still swaying, and he has to grab for the straw four times before he manages to grab it, and drinks as fast as he can. He isn't looking very healthy, though. Now Steeljaw's tape track is really kicking, making him hiccup more and more. He has to take a few moments to try and steady himself and get his tape re-regulated. But when he does, he eyes the fresh mug of the strange concoction. "I prefer them seperate, but whatever. Here goes..." He pulls the concoction closer to himself, tips it back. And though he looks a bit more oxidized bronze than gold by the end, he finishes the last bit of it easily. "Better watch out you don't get a brew-freeze from slurping up that stuff so fast! Winged guy is still in the lead, with the gold cat and crane on his heels. Fighting in the middle is the dune buggy dude and Seeker. Patriotic bird still in last, but looking to be having a blast!" Barnacle Bob comments, nudging them to bring out the next test. Dragging out a new table, six similar constructions are lined up. A series of tubes and levers on each one, with a big gallon jug on the top of them. "Now with your buzz on, you have to figure out how to get the brew from the top funneled down into the cup at the bottom, using the switches and levers.. totally unlike that Bioshock minigame, well least legal assures me it ain't." Combat: Americon strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Cutthroat compares his Intelligence to 70: Failure :(Combat: Grapple compares his Courage to 80: Success! Combat: Steeljaw compares his Courage to 80: Success! Combat: Sandstorm strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Windshear compares his Endurance to 60: Success! Americon manages to get the brew down this time, though he's still covered in the stuff! "I don't know what's doing drinking: Me, or the floor!" A drummer politefully rimshots for him. Sandstorm eyes the kegs. And then a still. Okay, screw the actual compatition, he just wants to get that far! That's more than enough encouragement to get the Wrecker stirred back into action, gulping down the horrible fish and energon concoction without farther hesitation. And then makes a face and belchs exhaust fumes a moment later. "Oh, geez! That slag is worse than the shriek bat cake!" But he finishes and staggers off to the next stage of the event. Cutthroat has trouble figuring it all out. Not the smartest of Transformers, let alone the Terrorcons, he ends up getting it all over him and very little into him. Grapple is still at the keg. At least he's putting all his strength in to gulping all that stuff. Really, it's a wonder he hasn't either passed out or thrown up, as of yet. Somehow, he does get the keg down and promptly rests his head on the table. Hey, he's still conscious! Just.. A bit out of sorts. After a few minutes, Steeljaw is looking a bit more like his regular self, a bit more gold as opposed to the sickly greenish brass. He urps quietly, a paw coming over his muzzle politely. "My coolant system will be returning that for a few cycles," He mutters, as he approaches the keg. Clamping his jaws on the straw, he starts to drink the contents down rapidly. And doesn't let the hydrolics of his jaws unlock until the last of the dregs are sucked down. Lettign go of the straw, he tilts back on his haunches and lets out a burrrp. He wobbles a bit from side to side, but thankfully rights himself before tumbling over. "Urp. That one wasn't so bad." Barnacle Bob is taken aback, as Cutthroat isn't able to figure out the contraption. "Ouch, guess we found his weak spot folks. Lad isn't too bright, that's fer sure! Crane dude and golden cat move up to tie with him now, Seeker and Dune are close behind.. and that bird guy is still in last." With no one moving on to the last round, no new drinks or contraptions are drug out. :(Combat: Steeljaw compares his Intelligence to 70: Success! Combat: Sandstorm compares his Courage to 80: Success! Combat: Cutthroat misses himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Grapple compares his Intelligence to 70: Success! Combat: Americon compares his Endurance to 60: Success! Combat: Windshear compares his Courage to 80: Failure :(Grapple looks up as one of the audience members/onlookers pokes him. A gesture at the odd contraption has him perk up ever so slightly. He's practically on autopilot as he gets up, walks over, turns a few things here and there, and.. It works. Just like that. Is he even coherent? Either way, he gets the latest liquid torture device, gulps it, and then finds an empty booth to lay down in. Americon then approaches the mug full of fish and guts, and downs it without fear, grinning widely! Then he spews it everywhere. Guess he has to start over? "Thank cogs! I need something to wash that hideous thing out of my mouth!" Sandstorm gets the straw in his mouth.... and then picks up the whole keg and hoists it in the air over his head like a giant soda can! Doesn't lower the thing for a few minutes until he's sucked down every last drop out of the barrel, then sets it aside. Belches much more loudly and more appreciatively afterwards. "Muuuch better..." Even he's slurring a little at this point, but manages to stagger towards the next part of the even with only a minor swagger. "Race you, Grapple," Steeljaw grins a bit at the other bot, but his grin is a bit lopsided. He wobbles a little as he walks up to the strange booze contraption, looking a bit like he's been through a bit of cybernip. But he approaches the device confidently. His muzzle taps at one lever, a paw pressing on a switch. And just at the right time, his tail flicks against another switch. Completely by mistake? Who knows, but it still activates the device and the gold cat downs it easily. But not without a bit of hiccuping. Americon actually manages to keep the mug of fish and fuel down, though his face betrays immense revulsion! "Hurrgh... I knew FISH AND CHIPS is an unAmerican food, now I know FIsh and FUEL is just as bad!" "Whoa, Crane and Gold cat are neck and neck for first place now! Winged thing slips back with Dune dude, and Bird guy bringing up the rear.. eww, clean up on isle three!" Barnacle Bob squirms when Americon projectile pukes all over. "Looks like Windshear got himself thrown out, can't snub up your nose at this event folks!" From behind a curtain, a large wheeled table is brought out with limitless glass boots on the top of them. All filled to the tip with delightful succulent energon, of course. "Fer our final and last challenge, the contestants must navigate the correct way to drink.. DAS BOOT! Das Boot.. das boot.. das boot.." Bob repeats himself, adding to the theatrics of the event. "Are your circuits too dulled to figure it out, and futhermore.. once you can figure it out, do you have what it takes to gulp it all down???" Combat: Cutthroat strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Americon compares his Courage to 80: Failure :(Combat: Grapple compares his Technical to 80: Success! Combat: Steeljaw compares his Technical to 80: Success! Combat: Sandstorm compares his Intelligence to 70: Success! "WHOO! GO STEELJAW AND GRAPPLE!" Sandstorm takes a moment to cheer for the two other Autobots ahead of him. Then turns his attention to the contraption in front of him. Despite having a good buzz going by this point, the recon-Wrecker's accute sense of detail isn't as dulled as one might worry. He picks out a few disconnected tubes quickly, fiddles with some of the settings, and flips the switch. Another mix squirts into the cup, which he quickly chugs down happily. "Next!" Americon tries to drink from the keg, but the straw is too big for his lips!!! "Uh, can I get a smaller straw?" he complains, pointing at the thing. Grapple has to, once again, be prodded by various possibly-drunk onlookers to get back up again. He stumbles, sways, and has to use a table for support for a few seconds, but he does get up again! One trial overcome! ..And then he gets to Das Boot. And stares. And peers at it, as if in suspicion. After a moment, he backs up, walks back to the kegs, takes a straw, and brings it back to the boot. Cutthroat goes for the next round of drinks, slamming the juices back with satisfaction. "Me going win!" he squawks. Just because Steeljaw is hiccuping near continuously now from the overload of energon, doesn't necissarily mean that he can't think entirely. It just means that his thought processes are a bit sluggish to get to the rest of his small body. He stares at the boot for a long period of time, his tail tapping lightly on the ground. Then, he apparently makes up his mind. He approaches one of the boots and settles back on his haunches. Carefully he hefts the boot inbetween his front paws, showing at least a bit of dexterity with them. And starts to guzzle it down carefully from the back of the boot. Eventually, the entire drink is gone, and the glass isn't broken. He manages to fumble the glass boot back to the table, before he falls over backwards, landing heavily on his back and hiccuping. But he still runs! "Whoa, looks like two-way tie for first place!! But we can't be having that, now.. can we??" Barnacle Bob shouts out amid the drunken onlookers cheering. A matron rolls out another keg, but this time accompanied by two large bouncers. "These two are gonna do.. KEG STANDS, see who spews up first!!" When they're ready, the bouncers move to Steeljaw and Grapple's side to lift them up for a keg stand. "Das Boot sits before Winged thing and Dune, those two clawing their way to third place! But who knows, maybe bird guy and the Seeker catch up at the end?? I do know one thing, who woulda thought we'd crown a braniac or kittie cat?" Combat: Sandstorm compares his Technical to 80: Failure :(Combat: Grapple compares his Endurance to 60: Success! Combat: Americon strikes himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Steeljaw compares his Endurance to 60: Failure :(Combat: Cutthroat compares his Technical to 80: Failure :(Cutthroat does not win? He transforms and squawks furiously, beating his stubby wings. And promptly orders up some more enerbooze. Cutthroat eagerly folds out into his bird-monster form. Grapple sputters and flails as he's lifted up; clearly, he had absolutely no idea what a 'keg stand' was and what it entailed. In his current drunken mindset, it takes a good few seconds of panic to calm down and realize what's going on. Then, he just gulps the brew as it comes, world swimming dizilly and insides threatening not to stay inside for long.. And, by some miracle, he's STILL CONSCIOUS. "Whoops!" All the drinks must finally be getting to Sandstorm's head, as he actually gets into a bit of trouble trying to get a handle on DA BOOT. ".. Whoa, maybe I shouldn't of practiced so much, already buzzered good.." Americon gets a smaller straw his size, and now that he has the right size, he sets himself to guzzling the keg! Steeljaw perks up immediately as he's lifted up, looking surprised around him. Wait, what? He was just entering this thing on a bet! But he staggers a bit as he's set back down, and stares up at the massive 'keg stand'. There's no tape sized portions for this one. He grunts, and stands up to it couragiously. But while his courage might not be muddled... Well, that little cat just doesn't have that much room left in his energy systems! He's the first one to pull away, staggering and hiccuping like crazy. At least he doesn't throw up. But once he gets his hiccups under control, he just sort of slouches over, groaning. "Whelp, looks like the crane dude inches out a victory here drink fans.. can't say -anyone- expected that! Gold cat get's second, but this is far from over. We've still got third place to fight over, and three contestants left!!" Barnacle Bob announces, pointing to Americon, Cutthroat, and Sandstorm. Combat: Sandstorm misses himself with his Grab attack! Combat: Americon compares his Intelligence to 70: Failure :(Combat: Mechanical Wyvern strikes himself with his Grab attack! Once Grapple is set back upright, he stands there for a moment. Simply stands, as if shellshocked and has just walked out of a warzone. He sways. Then, he falls over in to a heap, collapsing to the floor with a loud 'THUD'. Steeljaw doesn't look like he's going to be moving any time soon. He's still hiccuping energon bubbles though, so he's not quite unconscious yet. There's just no way that much energon was getting into his system. Sandstorm finally gets his hands on a boot, but misses his mouth entirely and spilles it all down his chest armor instead. "Gah... Man... and I gotta get this outta my system before tomorrow too..." he murmurs, but smirks still as he slouchs against the table and attempts to keep enough conherence going to get another glass boot of booze and drink it. No giving up! Mechanical Wyvern is still in the running, so his birdy beak drinks up quickly what it can. "Still can get good place!" he crows. Americon can't figure out the Bioshock puzzle, and somehow manages to short it out! "Woops! Um, can I get a new one over here?" he says as he tries to put the various nuzzles and lightbulbs and stuff back together! Sandstorm finally gets a good grip on a boot and keeps it long enough to chug it down.. but by then its too late and the Terrorcon has gone past. Oh well. Free booze all the same! He contently gulps the rest of the boot and slumps to the floor with a *CRASH*, completely blitzed and probably knocking a few more down while he's at it. That nasty fish-and-fuel conconction probably got him in the end, he's going to be feeling THAT one in the morning... "Now that folks, was one hell of a show. First place goes to Grapple, the Timid and Honest Crane! Second goes to Steeljaw, the Courageous Golden Cat! And rounding out the top two at third place is Cutthroat, the Winged Thing!! Honorable mention goes to all our participants, and those still going.. medals be damned mates, they're getting all the booze they can. Which reminds me.." Barnacle Bob comments, nodding to the bouncers and matrons. "First place gets to.. not pay his bar tab. The rest of ya, pay up!"
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)