A Special Guest

Maccaddam's Old Oil House. One of the best bars on Cybertron, even if it is open to just about anyone, even low-life factory workers, waste management technicians, and miners. The engex there, though, is totally worth dealing with the rough and less intelligent. 
On this particular night, the establishment is abuzz with more activity than usual, as the bartenders, waiters, and janitors are all rushing about, making sure that everything is spotless and perfect--because this particular evening they will be welcoming a very special guest to the bar. Someone who usually prefers more upscale places like The Circle, but has made an exception tonight, because tonight is a very special night for a racer who has won the Ibex Cup for the 10th cycle running. 
The place is jam-packed with patrons eager to get a glimpse and maybe an autograph of the famed athlete, with most of them lining up near the door. Of course, the company has been advertising this for quite a while--they know it'll bring good business. The crowds talk excitedly as they catch sight of his transport arriving in front of the bar. It's almost time! Several different news services are also on the scene, eager to snag an interview along with as many visuals as they can manage. 
And so Blurr arrives with much fanfare, as the crowd parts to allow him through. He smiles and waves in a few general directions, maybe shakes a few hands on the way in. Everyone clamors for his attention, shouting his name. 
"Blurr! Over here!" "Blurr! Wanna sign my chassis?" "Hey can I get a picture with you?" 
Once inside, he makes his way to the section of the bar that has been reserved for he and his colleagues. As soon as he sits down, an eager bartender hurries to take his order. Speedsters are never patient people, after all! Blurr gives him that self-satisfied smile. "Nightmare Fuel, and make it hot." 
Blast off is already here- he was here long before all this commotion started. If he had come to this place AFTER the commotion began, he would have turned right back around and left. He must have missed those ads. He hates excessive noise and heavy crowds. The shuttleformer is a lofty mech, a member of High Society and someone who prefers to spend his leisure time in intellectual, cultural pursuits. A quiet evening spent enjoying some good wine, some intelligent (and high social caste) company, and/or a good book, or perhaps even a trip exploring through space itself. 
His regular job is working as a Cybertronian Exploration Council shuttle. It's nowhere near the celebrity status as Blurr's job, but it is a highly esteemed one, with resultant high pay. Sentient space shuttles capable of flying through the rigors of the cosmos and even transporting cargo when need be are highly valued in their own way. They aren't usually celebrities, but they do often get used to being treated with respect and the admiration of the scientific community. Those scientists and map makers depend on them for access to the galaxy and the resources that abound there. Blast Off scouts out galaxies, determines resources available there, and sometimes transports scientific crews or helps them conduct their experiments.
Now, however, he finds himself sitting at Maccaddam's Old Oil House... and he is getting less and less impressed by the astrosecond. This is not the kind of place he would normally even go to- much BELOW his usual tastes, after all. He's used to eating at only the FINEST establishments, after all. But a friend convinced him to come here, and he's still not quite sure why. Something about showing him something. Well... right now, he'd say all he's been *shown* is crowds and noise... which are only getting worse.
As Blurr walks in, the shuttleformer looks on, unimpressed. He's vaguely aware of the sports star, and Blurr's famous and probably rich, so he must be a decent enough fellow, right? Still, it's just *sports*, not space exploration. And Blurr's presence is annoying for the simple reason it draws out all these screaming fans. Unfortunately, the area Blurr and his guests have been brought to isn't that far from where Blast Off sits. The shuttle winces a little, drawing away from the commotion and scooting even further back into a corner he is sitting at, some enerwine on his table before him. Where IS this friend, anyway? Blast Off attempts reading from a datapad he brought with him, but all this noise is making it hard to even concentrate....
The bartender grins and nods. "One serving of hot Nightmare Fuel, coming right up for the planet's finest racer!" Eagerly, he rushes off to prepare the order as best he can--he better not screw up with this guy, because boy that'd sure be embarrassing!
While waiting for the drink, Blurr just leans back and relaxes, chattering and laughing with his racing colleagues for a bit about how great the race was. And of course about just how great Blurr himself was. Evidently, he has broken countless racing records in the past few decacycles. Well if anyone had been paying any attention to the news lately, they'd probably know that already.
Yep, it's definitely getting noisier and noisier, what with Blurr and company sitting right next to him, celebrating his most recent victory. And to top it all off, the celebrity actually notices him sitting there. Smirking, he sidles up to Blast Off's little corner and sits himself down across from him.
"Hey, you're one of those spacers, aren't you?" he asks. "Pretty cool, being able to fly around in space without a transport or anything, isn't it?"
Blast Off is just finally getting back into his reading (albeit in stops and starts). It's a philosophical treatise on Cybertron and its generally superior place in the galaxy, written by an explorer who has spent some time out in the galaxy. But the author isn't actually a space-faring mech themselves, so Blast Off takes this all with a grain of salt, naturally. But overall, Blast off is enjoying the read.
Well... at least when he CAN finish a sentence or two. The noise only increases, and soon the shuttle places the datapad down again, giving up momentarily in order to sip his wine. He's just finished a drink, starting to bring the glass down again, when there's a blue and white celebrity suddenly sitting down across the table from him. His hand freezes for a second, then he blinks and he places it down. And stares at Blurr, slightly confused and possibly annoyed. But the speedster certainly *says* the right thing.
Blast off nods and simply answers with a, "Yes." Looking composed again, he returns to sipping his wine. He may have a trace of arrogance showing, but he is usually fairly polite unless pushed. And Blurr's a celebrity, thus one of the "important people" as it were, so Blast Off is going to attempt to be as cordial with him as the introverted shuttle can tolerate, at least. "I enjoy it, and I provide an important service to our planet." 
His gaze wanders over to the crowd that is most likely watching them now... or at least watching Blurr's every move. "You seem have found something you enjoy, as well. I am familiar with your racing exploits." He makes a small, polite nod, and continues calmly, "Congratulations on your latest win."
Oh, Blurr always knows how to say the right thing. In his business, he kind of has to. He has a massive reputation to maintain, you know. The bartender arrives with his Nightmare Fuel, and sets it down in front of the speedster, who takes a small sip to begin with. 
Now Blast Off is showing just a bit of arrogance...well. Blurr isn't exactly afraid of showing off how awesome he thinks he is. There's a bit of a self-satisfied smirk on his face when the shuttleformer looks shocked--why of course he's shocked--who wouldn't be, if Blurr himself just decided to sit down and have a drink with you? That's like the story of the vorn. 
"Thanks. I win a lot, but that one was particularly important." he grins and sets the drink down. "Hey, I knew it! You just look like a real spacer. So 'an important service', huh?" the racer asks. "What do you do, exactly? Exploration? Science? What was your latest excursion about? You ever find anything mysterious out there? Must be exciting!" 
He certainly talks a lot. Well, given that the words are coming out of his mouth at a higher than normal rate, it shouldn't come as a surprise.
That shuttleformer is actually more shocked at the intrusion onto his personal space, but yes... Blast Off, though not the most socially skilled, is *just* aware enough of social standing and image to at least not mind too much. Though Blurr may note he doesn't show the excitement that most mechs the racer deals with probably usually display. Then again, Blast off is a very introverted individual who likes to keep a calm coolness at all times. An aloofness, even. It just comes naturally to him.
He nods, and then Blurr gets a slightly confused glance again. For one, Blurr's fast speech takes a little getting used to for the sedate shuttleformer. Two, he never thought a basically groundpounder racer would be interested in the important work space shuttles do... but THAT simply shows good taste on this mech's part! He knew it... Blurr is famous and rich, and thus obviously an agreeable sort because of that. Taking a sip of wine again, he replies, "Indeed. I do a bit of both, actually. I am a CEC shuttle, sent out to map the cosmos... find new planets and star systems, chart out resources Cybertron may be able to use later, and catalog various life forms. I assist scientists in their work, as well." He's not a scientist himself, but he's certainly knowledgeable about many scientific things, as well as the technology required to conduct such research- and perform space flight. 
"Mysterious?" He pauses, thinking a moment. "Yes... there are a great deal many unknowns out there. You never know quite what each solar system will show you, or what the aliens there will be like. I've had a few close calls, but..." Another pause, and a wing elevon twitches, "...nothing I couldn't handle." He finishes his glass, setting it down. "Have you ever been out there in space?"
Blurr listens with an interested look on his face. Ah. Score and score. He really knows how to click with people. Perhaps that's why he's so well-loved. Not only because he's so fast, and such a talented racer, but also because he's just plain charming. So blatantly arrogant, yet everyone who talks to him seems to love his personality right away. Why, even the aloof Blast Off. At least thus far. And hetotally doesn't have a hidden agenda here...
"Wow, that sounds exciting!" the speedster exclaims. "Must be so interesting, getting to learn about new planets and star systems every megacycle. So what kinds of resources have you been finding so far? Is it pretty rewarding work? Do you get to see the results of your efforts implemented? What was your favorite?" Does this guy ever stop talking? Just imagine, if someone didn't have to breathe...
Blast off winces slightly at all the constant barrage of questions. "Yes... Well, yes... several...uh, I'm not sure you'd be familiar with their names... Yes..." As the questions go on and on and on, the shuttle starts leaning away slightly, then looking off into the bar like *where the slag is that friend of mine*?.... Not seeing them, he can only turn to look back at Blurr.
"I...Well, I..." Another wing elevon twitches, and he looks over and raises his hand to call the bartender over for another refill of wine. "I.. Yes, very, it's...I... Yes, sometimes, in fact just the other cycle I..." He blinks again. Blurr is beginning to make his processor hurt. A hand comes up to touch the side of his head briefly. "I... excuse me. *Excuse me*. ONE question at a time, please." Yes, an annoyed tone is becoming more evident. He's still trying to remain polite, but his patience- and already limited ability to deal with people- is nearing an end.
"Rightrighright...of course." Blurr stops firing questions at him as if this were some kind of interrogation. "Sorry I just thought you'd, you know, enjoy talking about your job, since you love your job and all, just like I do! Right, I mean you at least acted like you did, the way you were saying it was so important and everything." He's still talking extremely fast. The speedster pushes the Nightmare Fuel back and forth between his hands in a fidgety manner, then continues.
"So I guess we can just uh...start with the first question." Whichever that one was, because he sure doesn't remember.’
Blast Off blinks again, looking slightly unsettled but trying to regain his composure. There's another glance off into the bar for that friend (where oh where ARE they?), then back to Blurr. The racing star has at least slowed down, and that alleviates the shuttle's nerves somewhat... but he's not highly socially skilled. Once that feeling of irritation at being put in a situation he doesn't quite know how to deal with comes in, he has to work hard to overcome it.
He's still trying to, though. It wouldn't do to make a scene, after all. He's High Society, and there are rules of conduct. Hands clasp in front of him, fingers twiddling nervously for a moment then laying still. "I...uh, let's see. I believe you wanted to know about the resources I have found?" He pushes a finger towards his wine glass, then retracts it and tries to continue. 
"I... well, some things are classified, of course, but there was a large deposit of Iridium that I helped discover recently on the planet Argellios Nine. It made several scientific reports and even some of the news channels. It..it is a form of platinum, and used for many things... including certain high performance polishes." He nods to the sheen on Blurr's arms. "The products you use might well contain some, in fact." Of course, Blast off is wearing a high grade polish himself. Naturally. "I also discovered a new star system... HD 74635290-XT. Perhaps you've heard of it? It's a TRIPLE STAR SYSTEM!" He says proudly.
Blurr listens and nods, and glances down at the polish that adorns his paint when Blast Off indicates it. "Oh, platinum! Yeah, I know about that stuff! It's amazing what people will spend on polish. But what can I say? Gotta look my best in order to please the fans." he grins. "Triple stars, eh? That sounds awfully hot. How close did you get? Or should I say how close can you get?"
It seems that the shuttle guy keeps glancing around behind them, as if he's looking for someone. Hmm...the speedster tilts his head to one side. "You looking for someone? Something tells me you didn't come here alone. Friend of yours? Professional thing?"
Blast Off nods at the "looking your best" comment. Now THAT is something he can understand. "Indeed. Appearances are important! What's inside counts, of course... no one should allow themselves to be an uneducated boor, after all. But the outside counts as well! You can see how I keep my polish looking its best, and note the especially rich shade of brown and purple here.." He gestures pompously towards himself. "I would NEVER allow myself to look anything other than *thoroughly modern*." And indeed, he looks quite sleek. In this pre-war time his alt mode is a Cybertronian shuttle, and he does look quite stylish.
"Well... I can get quite close." He points to the heat shields on his arms. They are excellent shields, too... also the latest technology, naturally. "These heat shields are top of the line. I would accept nothing less."
Blurr's comment on looking for someone gets another glance around. "Uh... yes, a friend. Who was apparently going to show me something..." He huffs softly, then looks back to Blurr, glancing at all his friends. "I see you brought... several. You must have ...so many."
Blurr nods quickly in response to the comment about his friends. "Yep, well you know what I like to say? Everyone's my friend!" He gestures around the bar at all the excited fans and patrons standing around having a good time. He chuckles at Blast Off's brags about his looks. Yeah, he looks pretty slick...though not quite as much as the speedster himself, of course. So he just responds with a nod and a "Nice." Those heat shields, though. Those certainly were top of the line. "Oooh, yeah those look nice! Speaking of top-of-the-line, you know there's this thing, element zero, one of those rapid expansion gases. Works kind of like nitrous oxide except a hundred times better. Only thing is...it's only ever been found in the Phalaxian Belt, and no one's figured out how to synthesize it yet. And we all know how hot it is out there. Your innermost energon would start boiling if you stayed there for more than half a breem." He smirks and takes another sip of his drink. "That is, unless you had some kind of protection, like oh, state of the art heat shielding. If you did, all you'd have to do is land on one of those asteroids with a heat-resistant condenser, fire that thing up, collect the liquid in a chilled reservoir, and bam, profit, because all of those rocks are practically coated with the vapors. Of course you'd still have to be pretty fast, because as hot as it is there you just know your coolant's not going to last forever and if the stuff starts re-vaporizing inside your collection tubes--well I mean I didn't say 'rapidly expanding' earlier for nothing right and rapidly expanding inside a small, enclosed space? Well you do the math. But you're a fast guy too, aren't you? You look like it, so it should be easy as finding crystallized petrolex in the Helex Gardens for you. Right?" 
There's a little bit of noise from the doorway, the sound of interest and shouts of greeting, as if someone with the same kind of notoriety and clout as Blurr (maybe a bit less) has entered the bar. A small growd has gathered around a red and white mech - his frame and paintjob just screaming 'high caste medic' - and folks at the bar are waiting. Others are murmuring amongst themselves and glancing over, because something unexpected has been brought in with him.
"Ugh, it's Solvent," one mech can be heard to mumble not too far away from Blurr and Blast Off. "That guy can't stop showing off."
"Hah, wish my progenitor was Guildmaster Sigil. Then I could get away with anything I want," his drinking companion snarks.
Solvent's greeting others at the door, a wide smile on his face; he's taller than most of the other bots milling around him, and he's somewhat unique in having four arms as well. His optics go across the room, looking and --
Right at Blast Off. That's exactly who he was looking for.
Blast Off raises an optic ridge at Blurr's statement on friends. He looks over at the crowd of eager fans. His first response is to think what nonsense... most of them are not true friends anyway. Blast Off doesn't need many friends, he prefers the company of just a few carefully chosen ones. Though... despite this, it suddenly occurs to him it would be *nice* to have such obvious admiration from the masses. It's something he never gets in his kind of profession. But... meh, he really doesn't like the noise and mass chaos, so... perhaps it's just as well.
The rest of Blurr's statement gets a tilt of the head. Then Blast Off reaches for his wine and takes a sip, nodding at the description. "Yes, I have heard of that. It would take a very a skilled, fast and competent individual to actually obtain the element in question." He places the glass down. "Of course, I am exactly that. Shuttles are faster than you think... and my natural agility is even more impressive than most. You should have seen me a few solar cycles ago, dodging an especially dangerous asteroid field over in Gamma Three X29..." 
He chuckles softly to himself, then looks solidly at Blurr. "...Why? Are you... making an offer of something?"
While he waits for a response, he returns to sipping his drink, once again pausing to scan the room. And then- ah. THERE he is. Blast Off's hand comes up. "Solvent, there you are. *Finally.* I am over here."
"'Or something'?" Blurr laughs. "Mech, you are the perfect shuttle for the job. You can clearly see that already." He pulls out a datapad with the full contract on it all written out already. "All you have to do is sign here, and here, and here." He says, pointing to various blanks in the document. "50,000 shanix flat--I'll even make a 50% downpayment before your tailpipes ever even leave the shuttle bays. But, bring us at least 60 vials of the stuff and the pay doubles." The speedster grins, because that's a scrapload of money. "S--"
But then there's a small commotion. Well, small compared to the kind of commotion Blurr is accustomed to, and it seems Blast Off's friend is finally here. Oh, and he's a medic, isn't he? Perfect. "Heeeey there, Solvent, huh? Well, why don't you have a seat with us? And a drink on me. Your friend Blast Off here is quite a talented character, I hear. Still, even the best of us could always use backup in the case of an emergency. Never can be too careful, right?"
BLast Off blinks and looks down at Blurr's datapad. An optic ridge comes up. He wasn't exactly expecting a business proposal at this particular moment. He studies the text, and at first begins waving a hand, "Pffft, *just* 50,000 shanix? Who do you take me for, anyway? I can...." His words trail off when Blurr brings in the offer of *doubling* that later. Hmmm. Now... that IS a lot of money... even to the wealthy shuttleformer. Now Blurr has his attention. He reaches for the datapad, wanting to study it further, glancing up at Blurr. "...May I?"
Upon the reaction to Solvent's appearance, he nods. To both the invitation at joining them, and the fact that he's a "talented character." He looks up, awaiting Solvent's arrival. "Yes... what was this thing you wanted to show me, anyway?"
Solvent laughs heartily, enjoying the crowd, the noise, and the company. He's got something in his hand - is that a golden chain? It is, and it's going behind him.
"Well well, Blast Off. Finally rubbing elbow joints with celebrities now? I told you coming here would take you places," he states, then nodding to Blurr. "Nice to see you in person. Usually I'm struggling to keep my optics on you while you're on the track in Ibex. What was that last finishing time again? You had to have beaten your record."
The future Guildmaster turns towards something behind him. "C'mon now, I've got some friends I want you to meet. Be nice to them okay? And for Primus' sakes, try not to act like you just came out of a mining pit." He laughs softly. "Even if you did."
Attached to the other end of the golden chain is a small, lithe femme who looks like she is very much out of place here. She's been polished and painted, but there are tell-tale signs of hard living in her joints, something that the trained optic can spot. Her entire face is hidden behind a glossy black visor with no visible optics or mouth. She is a bright, strong ultramarine, somewhere between indigo and purple, mesh a matte black. Curiously her arms are like long thin triangles - wings - bent in the middle. She moves with the grace of a dancer, but she seems to flinch away from the crowds and noise, staying close to Solvent, always just a bit behind. The chain attaches to a golden band at her thin waist, effectively cutting off her ability to transform.
"What do you think?" Solvent asks Blast Off, as if he were showing off a bottle of high grade or a new palm-top computer. "She was an incredible find. Practically a steal."
As Solvent comes up, Blast Off casually nods and chuckles, as High Society mechs are want to do with each other. He replies, "Yes, I suppose it is... in fact, possibly taking me places I had not even expected." He adds, thinking of Blurr's offer, and continues, "And oh, but I already see so many places... just usually /off/ the planet."
Solvent's comments to someone behind him have the shuttleformer tilting his head to peer back there. Oh? What's this? He watches as a femme steps towards them. A femme... with a chain. She can't even transform. He does blink at this, slightly taken aback... Blast Off considers himself a gentlemech, and toting a femme around in chains wouldn't really be his, er, style. But it's none of his business, after all, and high society mechs need servants, right? Or... whatever it is that she is... Who knows, he might even consider a personal servant for himself if he was on planet more. Of course, he already has lower caste Cybertronians who come and clean his posh hab-suite. He doesn't even know *how* to use a broom or mop, and intends to keep it that way.
Blast Off regards Solvent's question, his aloof gaze quickly taking in the femme's form, then returning to the mech holding that chain. "...Interesting. How did you find her then?" He glances back at the femme, trying to read some expression from what little shows. "Does she have a name"?
"The entire course in two breems four astroseconds. Best time ever." Blurr brags, sliding the datapad over to Blast Off as his request to study it further. Indeed, such a time is far better than any other had ever done in the past. It's no wonder everyone is so crazy about him. He looks a little impatient when Blast Off is distracted by whatever Solvent wants from him, but when the fembot is revealed, he quirks a brow ridge at her. What is she, a servant or something? Don't drones do most of the unskilled work? You only brought in the low-casters when the drones needed maintenance or repairs. 
Hm, she isn't bad looking, either. The speedster isn't exactly what you'd call a 'trained optic' when it came to spotting the joint wear, though he does rebuke the medic for the shackles. "Hey, what's with the chain? Every Cybertronian deserves to be treated with respect around here. No one forcesanyone to come to a place like this. Why should they? Everyone should want to come here!" Of course he didn't know Blast Off had been reluctant. He gets up and starts to usher the fembot over to a seat next to them. "C'mon, what's your name? Relax, we're all friends here, okay?" he says with a charming grin. 
Solvent barks a short, derisive laugh. "Oh come on, she's a disposable, it's not like she's really aware of anything," he chides. "They're selling them off at the mines outside the badlands; Senator Ratbat's proposal for automated mining systems went through. Saves energon you know, you don't have to fuel the useless eaters that way, but now there's the problem of having a bunch of empties loitering around making problems."
The fembot has a seat near Blurr, head canted down; with her motorcycle helmet visor, you can't really tell where she's looking (or how she's looking), but she gives the impression of looking at the floor. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she's silent. 
"Give us a scoot over, Blast Off, I'll order something for everyone," Solvent says with a wide grin. "There's gonna be a new market in rounding up the decommissioned disposables as parts, equipment and cheap labor. Incidentally she doesn't have a name, you know, they don't give throwaways names, but her designation is TC-I38. She's a real steal, I tell you. Easy on the optics, if I do say so myself." He's coming off as more slimy by the moment.
Blurr watches Solvent talk about the femme as if she were a drone. He stares at the medic, then at the Empty. Only drones don't feel, and that's no drone. The speedster knows a drone when he sees one. And a 'disposable'? He's never heard of the term. The mines? Selling people as if they were property? Pfff, that was so below Cybertron, only pirates and other primitives did stuff like that. Cybertronians don't do that kind of dirty thing! Except for maybe a few rustbuckets like this Solvent guy, who probably kidnapped the poor fembot from Kaon or somewhere. And being the idealistic young athlete he is, Blurr wants nothing more than to be the hero right now. In fact, he just can't get his mind off of how much more the ICS and the rest of the planet are going to love him if he freed this beautiful damsel in distress. 
He turns back to Solvent, nodding. "Wow...well you're right on the optics part." he stares at her for another few moments, as if transfixed. Then, "Take my money." It's not a question, only the next thing is. "How much?" 
Blast Off listens as Solvent speaks, laughing lightly about the life he seems to be holding in his hands now. There's something slightly ...unsettling about it, though the shuttleformer is not really one to concern himself with others' affairs. He prefers to just concentrate on his own business and let others mind theirs. Still, the gentlemech part of him isn't entirely sure what to make of this. But... she doesn't protest or anything, so.... again, not his business, right? He'd hate to make a scene or offend a fellow sophisticate, anyway. "Ah, I see. I am familiar with Senator Ratbat... I'd say he generally does good work. And it is true, you don't want the common riffraff out there causing problems..."
Blurr's comments get a glance, but he doesn't add anything, one way or another. Again, the aloof shuttle will simply let these two work this out between them. He begins looking over the datapad when Solvent requests a seat.
He scoots over, allowing the other wealthy mech to sit down, and nods at the free drinks. His gaze returns from the datapad to the femme, studying her dispassionately. "She is certainly... an unusual find." One arm rests on the table as he shifts the other to his side so he can better see everyone. He tilts his head, studying "TC-I38" again as Solvent continues explaining plans to round up the empties. He nods through most of it, though he does glance back over to his friend at the mention of "parts", wondering just what that means. Parts- from mechs dead... or still alive? His voice betrays just a hint of uncertainty, "Well... I ... suppose that will clean up the streets, then."
He looks back at "TC". "Is that true, then? You really have no name?"
Solvent shakes his head. "She's not for sale anymore. Besides, no amount of money is going to pry her out of my hands. She's unique. Have you ever heard of an 'outlier'?" he asks Blurr.
If he knew what Blurr was thinking he'd quietly advise the young athlete not to be so free with his opinions - especially those. They were the sort of opinions that were being cracked down on more and more, and would lead to disappearances into places that were only talked about by conspiracy theorists.
TC-I38 tilts her head up to Blast Off and nods yes, slowly, before looking back down. And then...
Help me....
The vibration, the sound, the voice of a fembot, reverberates from somewhere deep inside Blast Off, heard only to him.
Blast Off idly watches Solvent rebuff Blurr as a bartender comes to serve them their drinks. He takes it and swishes the engex lazily around the glass, watching its slow circling motion, stopping only at the word "outlier". This garners a glance back at Solvent. "I... am vaguely familiar with the term... something... unusual, isn't it?"
He lifts his glass to take a sip of the brew, noting TC-I38's nod when... when there is suddenly a voice... inside his head. He winces, nearly spilling the drink- but not quite, and blinks in confusion. The glass goes down and he freezes a moment, trying to understand what just happened. Processor works overtime as internal scans start piling through all his programs and system stats. It takes a bit, but.... everything *seems* fine. In the meantime, he stares straight ahead... afraid to look at the femme for some reason. 
Suddenly very uncomfortable, Blast Off grabs Blurr's datapad again and starts reading it intently, trying to ignore what just happened. But it's... somehow difficult, and his gaze does briefly return to her for a moment before setting once more furiously to work on that suddenly hyper-intriguing datapad....
Oh, Blast Off might be afraid of making a scene, but Blurr is definitely not. In fact, the speedster is extremely overconfident. A person of his status and caliber is practically untouchable in more ways than one. If he started speaking out against Ratbat, then simply disappeared or drastically changed his opinions? The public would get very suspicious. Thousands of people know him, and millions more know who he is and what kind of a mech he is. There would be conspiracy theories everywhere. It would be...a very unwanted mess. Additionally, he could be very difficult to actually, physically, catch. That's why the Senate had always gone to such lengths to make sure people like Blurr never saw any evidence of their dirty little secrets. Besides, he has absolutely no idea that there are those in power who are actually setting those things into motion. 
Blurr quirks a brow ridge at Solvent. No one tells him 'no'. Not even other rich people. Not even the government has ever told him that. And if Solvent doesn't give in, he is going to have a serious mess on his hands. "Um, excuse me, but that wasn't a question. Are you saying you're not going to let me buy this beautiful specimen? I mean, are you out of your central processing unit?" He stands up at this, to show that he is indeed serious about this. Additionally, he actually says what he does next at a much slower pace than usual, as if trying to make sure the medic fully understands his meaning. "Look pal, let me explain to you how this kind of thing works. I'm going to take whatever I deserve to have, right here, right now, whether you agree to a monetary transaction or not. And you know me well enough to figure out that I'm not a patient mech. So either you name your price now,Solvent, or you won't get one." And yes, that was a threat. A full-on threat. 
Solvent suddenly begins screaming.
He begins clawing at himself, falling out of his chair, flailing and writhing on the floor; he's scratching his paint off - he looks like he's trying to gouge out his own optics. 
"SCRAPLETS!" he shrieks. "THEY'RE EATING ME ALIIIIVE!"
If he had the crowd's attention before he REALLY has it now; at the mention of scraplets there is mass panic and patrons are scrambling for the exits, fairly trampling each other to get away from what could be a messy, horrifying death. Meanwhile, TC-I38 sits motionless in her seat, the end of the golden chain resting on the floor. She turns slowly, reaches down, picking it up with long, thin fingers, setting it in her lap, as if absolutely nothing is wrong.
Blast Off turns to stare at Blurr as the speedster makes a scene. His discomfort level just rises... the quiet shuttleformer is not used to this at all. He doesn't like noise and large crowds anyway, preferring the quiet of his quarters- or of space itself. He's also not sure which side to take, if any... he doesn't know Solvent *that* well, but he knows Blurr even less. But Blurr's an important celebrity, right? And honestly... he thinks they're BOTH being rather loud and/or obnoxious right now. 
Shifting uncomfortably, he goes back to trying to read the datapad and ignoring everything. *Trying* being the optimal word here, especially once Solvent- starts SCREAMING. Now Blast Off definitely flinches, bringing the datapad down immediately to star in horror as he instinctively wants to just flee. SCRAPLETS? OH PRIMUS NO... get them away!!! But even if he wanted to flee, he couldn't anyway since Solvent is sort of blocking the path. Besides, as Blast off stares at him in that horror... he notes... there are no scraplets. None that he can see, at least. 
That's when his gaze returns immediately to that femme sitting there, so unconcerned. Given what just happened, that voice in his head... he is suddenly thinking he might know exactly what an outlier is, and what they can do. And so, amidst all the commotion and Solvent's screaming and thrashing, the shuttle's gaze remains fixed on the femme, studying her like a turbo-hawk.... almost fascinated.
Blurr could have hit the ceiling, he jumped so high. 
Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. But suffice it to say that he was quite startled. "Holy Primus!" he exclaims. And now everyone is screaming and running. He's about to do the same himself, but then...wait. He doesn't see any scraplets, and why would scraplets all of a sudden be here, in Maccaddam's? Why wouldn't anyone have seen them come in? 
He stares at the fembot for a long moment, who looks as if nothing is amiss, then at Blast Off who looks equally surprised. Then he suddenly dashes forward and attempts to grab her and pull her outside. There's something about her, and he has to find out what that is. "Okay what did you do to him." he says with a slight smirk, because if it's what he thinks it is, then that was pretty impressive.
Blurr is moving far too fast for the fembot to react. She's grabbed by Blurr and before she can so much as protest, he has her outside the building. Let's hope Blast Off caught where they were going!
Inside, once the TC-I38 is out of immediate presence of Solvent, he stops screaming as suddenly as he started. Gasping for air, he rolls onto his side, checking himself all over; no damage. No more tiny metal creatures burrowing their way into his mesh. 
He leaps to his feet, furious, looking around for his disposable slave; both she and Blurr are gone and he has no idea where. He snarls aloud. "That little glitch!" He looks around, turning over tables and trying to see if she's hiding behind the bar; Maccadam's is now empty apart from Solvent, and Blast Off, who was trapped in his seat. "... How dare they! That scrappy little racer doesn't know who he's dealing with!"---Outside, TC-I38's first response to Blurr is to flinch away and cover her face with her arms, as if she expects him to start beating her. When he does not, she slowly seems to 'peek' out from between her fingers. Cautiously she responds in the only way she knows how.
Outlier, says a timid, female voice from inside Blurr's head. She's directing her communications directly to his audial processors. Fooled his senses.
Blast Off can only blink as Blurr grabs the femme and rushes her outside somewhere. Still stuck sitting in his seat, he finds himself staring at Solvent as the other mech leaps up and starts rampaging through the place. He's creating quite a ruckus, too, which has the quiet shuttle feeling more unsettled... and a bit more annoyed. He's also at a bit of a loss for what to do. 
Blast Off watches the destruction, observing calmly, "Indeed. Well, flipping tables and breaking glasses isn't going to get you any closer to finding her again. You can *try* catching up to Blurr, but I imagine that unless you're faster than you look, that could be... difficult. And... are you sure you really *want* that femme anyway? You.... well, do you know what just happened?" How dense IS this guy anyway?
The shuttleformer then looks down at the datapad Blurr left lying there. Picking it up, he stores it in subspace for now, then calmly reaches over and finishes his drink. Placing some shanix for the bill and the tip, he then gets up and looks around once more at the bar. It's funny... other than Solvent's excessive commotion... without all the screaming and yelling and chaos of crowds... it's now rather a nice place.
The aloof mech then turns towards the door, the femme- and her plea for help- still on his mind. But he's not used to interfering in other people's business... and surely Blurr's taken her far away by now. There's probably nothing he can do. Plus... if that little incident is any indication... it appears she can fend for herself. Though, if that's true... why was she bound in that chain?
Swindle wanders in, reading his own datapadd, his optics so glued to the screen that he nearly runs into the exiting Blast Off in the process. He looks around at the scene. "Oooh, was there a bar fight I missed or something? I could have placed odds!"
Blurr just watches TC inquisitively as she prepares for a beating that never comes. He almost looks...flabbergasted by it. It's not exactly something he's seen before. Why does she cower like that? She doesn't think he looks frightening, does she? He certainly hopes not. The racer looks even more puzzled when she tells him she is an "outlier". No, he hadn't really been paying attention when Solvent mentioned it.
"'Outlier'?" he asks. "What's that mean? How did you 'fool his senses'? Illusions? I didn't see any holomatter. Did you poison his drink with a hallucinogen? And how come you were cowering just now, do I really look that scary? I did say we were friends earlier, didn't I? I mean if I do look that bad then please tell me because I need to NOT look scary. To anyone at all. Appearances and all that are pretty important, when you're someone like me, you know? Oh and I'm sure you actually have a name besides TC-I38 or whatever, and if you don't I'm just gonna have to give you one because there is absolutely no way in Vector Sigma that I'm calling you that every time I need to address you."
As for Solvent--well, if Blurr had been within audio receptor range, he'd probably have laughed and told him that he'd warned him. Blurr doesn't just not get what he wants. That's just not acceptable. 
Solvent gives Blast Off a dirty look before remembering his breeding, and calming himself down. "Yes, I know exactly what it is that happened. She is an Outlier, Blast Off. An abomination before Primus and an affront to Functionism. She has unnatural components that allow her to bewitch the sensors.That is why I purchased her out of the disposables. I intend to dismantle her and find out what the cause of this disease is."---Yes, TC thinkspeaks to Blurr, trying hard to catch up with how fast he's talking. Under the relentless barrage of words, she's getting the gist of what he's saying, and tries to cobble together an explanation, as she herself has no idea exactly how she does what she does.
What I think becomes what others see. Don't know how I do it, but I can. I see through walls, floors, rocks, bodies - mining scout. Used to find energon, metals, sparks. But I can make others see lies.
At Blurr's insistence that she MUST have a real name, she shakes her head no. Don't you know? she thinkspeaks into Blurr's head. Low caste have no names.
Of course Blast Off spots Swindle and steps aside before their is any collision. He has that natural agility, after all. It doesn't faze him, though, and he replies, "Not... exactly. A disturbance... from a lower caste." He glances back to Solvent, and might add "and from a high caste buffoon", but refrains from doing so with Solvent standing there. Wouldn't be polite, after all.
He turns his head to Swindle. He thinks he knows him from somewhere?....
At Solvent's outburst, Blast Off catches the dirty look, but his own gaze remains calm and aloof. He's not easily flustered- certainly not by people being mad at him. "Outlier. ... Interesting. I was not aware her talents were a disease, though. Surely there are uses for such things?" At Solvent's talk of dismantling her, Blast Off finds himself glad the femme's elsewhere now... though of course the aloof space shuttle remains more keen on minding his own business and having others mind theirs than anything else. It would take a lot to actually get him involved in something.
The mention of functionalism gives him pause as well. Of course, his function is /perfect/, and he wouldn't change it for anything. He wouldn't ever allow anyone else to change it, either. But... "Functionalism? Is that that idea one must follow one's physical function to the exclusion of all else? Not that *I* have any complaints, my form is a thing of beauty..." He rubs a hand on a heat shield for a moment, admiring himself... Then continues, still perfectly calm, "But shouldn't it be up to an individual's *choice*?" Aloof or not, Blast Off has always had a keen sense of the importance of individual choice... especially his.
Blast Off and Solvent might notice a very pink femme, who happened to be coming up the road with a shoulder-sling carrier full of tools she picked up for a friend of hers. She pauses, however, when she sees a femme with a chain on her neck emerging from Maccadams,  and...isn't that some kind of celebrity, chatting her up?? How *disgusting*.
With a rage she didn't even think she had in her, Arcee pulls the sling full of tools off her shoulder, and swings them at Blurr. They make a *WHOOM* as they cut through the air, but they probably don't hit him, odds being what they are. "How DARE YOU!" she screams. "Let her GO! She's not a plaything you can purchase with your filthy lucre!! You complete and utter CAD!!! EVERYBODY LOOK!! HEY EVERYONE, LOOK AT THIS!!" 
Primus, she's making a lot of noise.
Swindle also senses some familiarity with Blast Off. Looks like a mech that's frequented his weapons shop, right next to the item shop and across the street from the armor shop. "Oh," he says flatly, after being informed that the disturbance was relatively minor. "So how's the energon today? Watered down again, or has the owner smartened up?"
Blurr listens to TC's explanation, looking quite fascinated. Hah...well. Now he has even more reason to want her on his side. He looks shocked at the mention of low castes not having names, though. "Uhm...no, I didn't know that, actually." He answers, quite honestly, then folds his arms indignantly. "Slag, I don't get it. Why would someone with such amazing abilities get shoved into a low caste? I mean, just think of all the uses it could have, if they were to just put you in the right position! Hmph." 
There's a pause, after which he slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, lowering his voice. "Look, you come with me, and I'll treat you like a Prime. I'll even let you name yourself. I won't be chaining you up, that's for sure." he chuckles and pulls away. "But we'd better hurry up and get out of here before that spawn-of-a-glitched-diode Solvent comes looking for you. And I wouldn't want to have to humiliate him much more, after what you just did to him." he laughs. "But I guess I wouldn't be too adamantly against it, either." 
He grabs her wrist and starts to pull her away from the bar. "C'mon, my transport is this way." Yes, he has a private transport, of course.
Feint shrinks back from Blurr at the idea of getting on a transport, pulling back. No, she thinks to Blurr. Bad for you. Don't you know what they do to you if you are hiding an Outlier? she asks. She's looking overhead for sky spies, and trying to shrink into the shadows.
No, no he doesn't, actually. Blurr just gives Feint a confused look. "Uh, no?" But then he grins that overconfident grin. "Who's they? Well anyway -they- can -try- to do something to me." He grabs her arm then, and starts trotting off toward it. Not too roughly, though.
.... You aren't going to hurt me? Feint telepathically asks, sounding very worried, but relenting to Blurr's tugging.
"No, of course not!" Blurr laughs, and the door of the transport ahead opens. "I just told you that like ten million times didn't I?" He climbs in, joining his friends and colleagues, then holds out a hand to help her up as well.
But I'm a disposable. They always hurt my kind, Feint whimpers as she gets in.
Blurr frowns, helping her up, and then indicates a seat next to him. "What do you mean, exactly?" He's starting to look slightly disconcerted as the transport takes off down the expressway.
Disposable caste. Slave. Non-being, Feint tries to explain. I will show you, but only for a moment. Relax, this will be disorienting. . .
Suddenly Blurr is not in the transport anymore, not going down an expressway. He's thousands of feet below the surface in the mining pits of Kaon.
All around him are mechs and femmes toiling in the dark, dirty and worn, some damaged, all of their surface lighting dim from exhaustion and low-grade energon. There is a sense of dispair, a knowledge that this is all there is or will ever be, for any of them.
"You!" a burly guard points directly at Blurr, and there is an accompanying feeling of fear that comes with those words, overlapping the speedster's senses. "Get moving *tool*. Get to work, or we'll smelt you. We have too many of you already." He points to a deep mining shaft that has collapsed more than once. Blurr is given the sense that this is what he must do - explore the structures of the chamber - and risk being crushed to death if anything is unstable.
As suddenly as it started, it stops. Feint looks over at him. My life, she explains.
It certainly is disorienting....at first it seems to Blurr that he's suddenly teleported elsewhere, but then he remembers Feint's ability to project illusions as she had done to Solvent. Once it's over, he just stares at her, as if simply unable to process what just happened. Was...no. That couldn't be real. Such a place could not possibly exist on Cybertron! Maybe she'd suffered some trauma earlier in her life.
At this, he perks up and slaps her lightly across the shoulders. "Well my friend, I'm telling you right now that those cycles are over! It's time you were actually recognized for your talents!" The transport is headed toward the beautiful skylines of Translucentia Heights, the elite residential sector of Iacon, where Blurr owns a rather fancy habitation unit. "After all that scrap you deserve a break for the rest of your life, eh?"
Am I to be your slave now? Feint asks curiously.
"Who said anything about slave?" Blurr laughs. "Come on, loosen up." The transport stops in front of a particularly large high rise, the doors open and everyone piles out. "We don't have slaves here. Just drones. I mean, if you -wanted- to be a slave, I guess I couldn't object..." He laughs. "Just pulling your crankcase. Come on." He leads her toward the front entrance.
Feint follows Blurr in, albeit still reluctantly. She is as nervous as a cybermouse that knows a turbofox is after it. Disposables *are* slaves, she tries to explain to Blurr. Do you not know what goes on in the badlands?
    No, he definitely doesn't, and he refuses to believe it. "Badlands? What are you talking about?" The doors slide open to reveal a magnificent atrium with a beautiful floating crystal energon fountain in the middle of the room. And it's not just any energon. In fact, it's of the highest purity grade available to the public. As he walks by, Blurr plucks an empty glass from a dispenser in the base and fills it from the extravagant piece of decor, then hands it to Feint. "All yours." He says with a grin, and continues toward the elevator. Has she even ever -had- energon this good before?
Feint just looks at the drink, and holds it, staring at it. It's more fuel than she's ever been allowed in one sitting in her life, and all she can think of is how much she wants to share it with the others she was bought and taken away from.
What are you doing to do with me? If anyone else knows what I can do, you'll be in trouble, Feint says.
"So you going to drink that or what?" Blurr chuckles. The elevator makes a light sound as it reaches the top floor. The doors open into the fanciest hab suite Feint has probably ever seen. Every single luxury imaginable is in here. "What am I going to do with you? Actually I think the question is, what are -you- going to do with yourself?" He chuckles and sits down in front of a giant videopane. "I for one, I think I'm going to watch some off-world racing broadcasts."
Feint just goes to sit in a corner, on the floor, staring at her drink.
She wants to mourn.
Not having full control of her abilities yet, she intentionally sets off a ripple of energy through the air in all directions that dissipates the further it gets from her; when it comes in contact with any Cybertronian sensors, it gives a brief feeling of deep loss, confusion and sorrow that evaporates as fast as it happens.
Blurr turns on the broadcast, and he's just sitting there, watching it when he gets that strange feeling. He quirks a brow ridge and turns around to stare at her. So she can project her emotions too, huh. He sighs and walks over, noticing that she hasn't even taken a sip of the energon at all. "Hey, it's okay now." he says softly. There's a silent pause. "Look, how about we think of a name for you? Besides that number you gave me earlier."
Its not okay. There's so much here when we're all on low fuel in the badlands. You have so much it's almost wasteful... This cup... this cup is ten of us, Feint grieves, setting down the drink and pushing it away.
"But..." Blurr sighs. Primus, what could he say to this poor fembot? "Well, what -do- you want to do? Come on, at least think of a name I can call you by." He says, pushing the glass back toward her. "I mean, didn't you ever think about what you'd do if you ever got away and had the freedom to do whatever the slag you wanted? Because now you can."
No... I had no hope. I just accepted that I would live and die in the mines, like everyone else, Feint says. I don't know what I would call myself. I don't really know anything about myself. It's going to take her a little time to adjust; after all, she's just been plucked out of everything she ever knew, and narrowly escaped being vivisectioned.
"Well, hm." Blurr looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe you need to see a therapist, I could certainly get one. They'd probably be better at coming up with a good name for you, and be better at helping you learn more about yourself than I would be!" He picks up a datapad and starts punching in some data. "In fact I could get one here next solar cycle." He grins. "So um, what else can you do with your projection thing? Besides make people hallucinate, and feel whatever you're feeling?"
Feint tries to use her vocoder. "I don't know. I try to hide that I can do this," she says very softly, weakly.
"Maybe you could even control someone by making them think they're somewhere else!" Blurr suggests, his tone excited. "Just think about what you could -do-. It's amazing, really. Like what you did to that slagpile Solvent, you practically controlled him."
Feint scoots back a little more. "No, no, what I did was bad! He'll report me, and then the enforcers will come for me!" she seems panicked and very insistent on this. "When you have these powers, powers that don't match your function, they come and take you away. That's why Solvent wanted me. I was going to be a medical research subject."
"Hmph!" Blurr frowns. "I knew that mech was up to no good!" he declares. Then he puts an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, I'm going to protect you. No one's going to mess with you, without going through -me- first, okay? That's a promise."
It may take him offguard, but Feint suddenly hugs Blurr, clinging to him desperately. There's a bit of trust starting to form. "I will... I will hold you to that," she says in a voice hardly above a whisper, as she trembles.
Oh, that's much better. Blurr smiles and pats her back. "Trust me, if anyone messes with you, they're going to be -sorry- they did, because -everyone's- going to hear about it. Now are you going to drink that engex or what? Come on, you wouldn't want it to go to waste, now would you? Because if you don't drink it I'm just going to throw it away."