Quick Chat

Neither particularly busy nor particularly quiet, the Maccadams has just the right amount of patrons to make a dim din and enrich the atmosphere without it being too noisy or rowdy.  It is this backdrop in which Swivel, the courier, has been telling anecdotes to two mechs who had been sitting to her right at the oval bar.  One is as thoroughly amused by them as he is plastered, while the other only occasionally smirks at a comment here or there, but otherwise finds the conversation dull.  However, the latter had been watching his co-worker spiraling further and further into a drunken stupor, and interrupts Swivel's story about the time a turborat had nested in one of her wheels during a time when she could not replace the torn up hub cap.  Explaining that he'd better get his co-working and long-time drinking buddy home before he passed out, he drags the other giggling mech to his feet and begins to haul him out.  Swivel turns on her stool to watch them leave, saying her goodbyes and waving at their backs until they are out of sight.
A stranger enters the bar. Strange because it's difficult to tell just what his alternate mode might be, and he's huge. Thankfully, Maccadams has accommodated such large mechs. He's unaccompanied by his usual 'entourage' of Senate Enforcers and has come here for, what else? A drink. He discovered these not so long ago and finds them particularly pleasant to imbibe. Also thankfully, his enforcers were kind enough to let him go. He doesn't quite recognize Swivel. He's only seen her a handful of times in passing--but she looks familiar, more familiar than the rest in the bar at this time.
It's easier for Swivel to recognize the very distinct mech than him to recognize her.  Partially because size, partially because his optics are green, and partially because she has fairly decent facial (or other attribute) recognition.  After all, fairly early on she was able to tell YX-939 from other units, and to the general public, they all look the same. 
At this recognition, Swivel grins pleasantly and waves her arm in wide arcs to both get Quickswitch's attention and to greet him.
When Quickswitch sees Swivel waving, he places her better. Yes. She's the one he's seen before at Kaon and at an earlier bar. He lugs himself over to greet her, "Hey, I've seen you somewhere before," he says, taking a seat next to Swivel, unasked, "I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced," he smiles, "The name's Quickswitch."
The femme's face brightens when the mech receives her non-too-subtle gesturing and comes over.  She swings her legs, which have no hope of touching the ground as she had clamored onto a stool meant for a bigger mech.  "Mm-hmm," she responds.  "I know."  Swivel won't say how she knows, not wanting to embarrass the mech.  He'd told her his name the first time they'd met, but then again, he was drinking and not holding it well. That does tend to compromise the memory, as Swivel has learned.  She smiles and puts her hand out to Quickswitch, looking up at him.  "I'm Swivel.  'Ow do you do?"
That accent. Unmistakable, and now he has a name to put to it. He holds out his hand....unsure of what to do with it. Looks down at it wearing a confused expression.
"Nice to meet you, Swivel," Quickswitch hesitantly takes her hand, "I'm all right. Just taking a stroll and found myself in here," another mild smile, "Um, how are you?" he awkwardly but friendly responds.
There is a light trickle of laughter from the femme.  Whether this is general merriment from too much drink, or her laughing at his obvious awkwardness, such as not even understanding a handshake, is unknown. The overall positive vibes that this femme sends out would suggest the former.
Swivel would grip his hand, if her hand could even fit the width of his large palm.  The most she can do is imitate a grip by hooking her thumb in the nook between his thumb and index phalange.  "Now shake.  Shakin' 'ands is sumtin' sum peeps do 'en they meet're 'en they make deals," she explains.  "But dun pull m'arm orff or pull m'outter m'seat."  She smiles seeming at ease.  "Dunna mean t'put y'on th'spot, but seemed ya dinna know wot I's 'bout puttin' me 'and out t'ya.  If I'm telin' ya sumtin' y'a'ready know, oh well!  As fer 'ow I'm doin', I am well. An' you?"
The accent is difficult to comprehend, but the assault unit manages. It closes its fingers around her own, not too hard, and shakes her hand, "I am functioning adequately," it replies, looking over at the bartender, "I require a beverage." It really does not care which one the bartender produces, and informs him of this, "What is it that brings you into this establishment?" it replies, trying to be friendly and conversational. A rather ridiculous undertaking for it to try, "One engex please. And keep them coming," Quickswitch tells the bartender, "And what will you be having?"
Once the handshake is over she slips her hand free and then gives him a thumbs up while saying "Smashing good job!"  She hopes that he isn't one of those people who take every single slang term literally, although, listening to him speak, she won't discount the possibility.  She may have a lot of explaining of her vernacular ahead of her, but she doesn't mind overly.  Swivel certainly enjoys chattering away at anyone who will listen, and even some who won't. 
"Jus chillin' affer doin' a d'liv'ry…" she pauses a moment as if recalling something, clears her vents, and continues, "duh-liv-er-ee 'ere in Rodion.  'Ad a good time last I came 'ere, so's I figgered, I'd come ag'in." In response to asking what she will be having, Swivel holds up her hands, palms out.  "Nuttin' more.  I'm past m'two drink limit.  Dinna loik th'last time I got o'er'charged.  I jus' drinkin' in th'mosphere now."  Swivel gestures to the scene about her to illustrate her point.  "An' you?  Wot brings'yeh?"
"Haha, hey, not a problem," the assault unit hears itself reply, and the smile that spreads on its face is strange, foreign, "I'm here without my, hrm, my guards this time around," he explains, taking up a drink as the bartender sets one down for him. The surge is pleasant, "Much better than the swill I had at that previous bar," and the six-changer tries to analyze the slang he's never heard before, "Just out and around," he says simply, "Thought I'd come here and enjoy myself. The Decagon may be fine for training, but frankly, they have lousy drinks," Quickswitch's mouth flattens, "This place is much better than those miserable bars I've been to in the past," he takes another drink, "A delivery you say? What kinds of things do you deliver?"
Swivel can tell that the mech is in much better spirits than when she'd seen him before.  But then again, Whirl isn't about.  The mech really seemed agitated by the presence of an empurata.  Swivel honestly understood why in hindsight, but at first, she had no idea what the word meant, much less its significance.  
While listening, Swivel taps her fingers on her thigh with a muted tink tink tank, a smile on her face.  She listens to Quickswitch's complaints about previous bars and the beverages she offers and offers up a little shrug and a non-committal sound of acknowledgement to further assure that she is listening raptly.  And when a question is posed to her she takes very little time to make her answer.  
"Oh!  Al kins'er thin's!  I du'need t'know wot I'm duhlivering," while she speeds most words, it seems as though she is taking special pains to say every syllable of deliver and all of its forms, "jus' if I nee'ta te'care 'en 'andlin' it.  Yanno.  If it's fragile 'n th'loik." Swivel explains.  "I mos'ly work outter Steamcore's Courier Agency in Nyon.  But sumtimes on m'rounds I nab all kinner jobs from o'er businesses or d'some freelancin'. I says I du'need t'know, an' truly, I dun wanner know."  
Swivel smiles again.  "An speakin' oh work, much as I'd loik t'stay 'n chat longer, I gots more t'do."
Quickswitch nods to the femme, to Swivel, "Will I be seeing you around?" he asks, hopefully. Though he doesn't understand why, frankly. That accent is atrocious and hard to bear, though he doesn't mind it.
There is another light laugh as Swivel nods. "Oh, mos' loikly. I ten'ta ge'round. So long as yer oot an'aboot I dinna 'ave a doubt we'll see more o'chother." The femme winks her optic in a friendly manner and hops down off of the stool she had been occupying.
Quickswitch, unsure of what to do next, nods to her and raises his hand in a wave. Man, I hope I got that right, "See you around!" And a tangle of emotions rises as he takes another drink.
Returning the wave, for yes, he certainly did get that correct, Swivel turns and walks out of the bar, beginning to hum a chipper tune.