Wine and Functionism

Blast Off sits on a chair inside Shiftlock's apartment. She brought him here to Kaon, then lost contact until just recently. Finding the shuttle wandering lost in the wreckage of the grimy city, she kindly offered to let him stay at her place until he could get back on his feet. That sounded great to him.... until he learned she was seeing someone.
The moment he watched Shiftlock and Rumble together is the moment he realized two things: He has feelings for the femme, and he can't STAND Rumble because of it. Hello jealousy~. However, the aloof shuttle is doing his best to obscure that fact, if for no other reason than he doesn't want to get thrown out of the place. So, for now, he simply tries to adjust, and be grateful for what (little) he has.... difficult as that is for him. There's so little here, but it's better than the street. So little, not even a library.... but there's one kind of reading material one CAN find in Kaon: Megatron's Tome. So that's what he reads now, since it's all he HAS to read. And he tries to ignore everything else.
There's a tuneless whistling outside the door as Rumble arrives, letting himself into the suite via passcode. He's carrying a multipack of low-grade energex and a carton of enercigs for the new love in his life. He isn't aware of Blast Off's presence here until he gets in the door, and sees the dour shuttleformer. "Hey, mech, how you doin'??" he greets, glancing around. "Did, ah, did Shifty hafta go for a while?" He continues into the suite, setting the energex and smokes down on the closest counter.
Blast Off peruses another page of Megatron's writings, letting out a slight snort. There are some things he agrees with, but Megatron's cry to abandon one's alt and the caste that goes with it doesn't settle well- Blast Off is a shuttleformer and VERY proud of it. And by the way, that's QUITE elite. Just... one problem. Space travel is not allowed.
Then he stiffens as Rumble enters the room. Violet optics watch the smaller mech, and he frowns under his faceplate. There's a long silence, but he finally responds. "She's not here." So helpful. With that, he goes back to his reading.
"Oh, okay!" There are some mechs who comprehend that it's irritating to have someone speaking to you while you're trying to read. But Rumble is not one of those mechs. He has a seat in an adjacent chair, popping open the low-grade energex container and then lighting up the enercig. "So! Whatcha readin'?"
Blast Off keeps *trying* to read, but Rumble is distracting the shuttle... probably far more than he should, simply by his presence alone. And... the shuttle's head snaps up. "Do you mind?" He says of the enercig with a trace of irritation. He's about to try reading again when Rumble keeps actually *interacting with him* (oh the humanity). His ventilation systems sputter almost imperceptibly, then the Combaticon slowly places the datapad down. He's going to *have* to reply- otherwise the smaller mech will probably just keep asking annoying questions. "Megatron's treatise. Since there's not much *else* to read around here."
"Aw yeah. Good stuff, right there." Rumble leans back in the seat and guzzles the low-grade drink with a nauseating eagerness. "Y'know, I worked in the mines with him for a long time. We go way back. He's really makin' a name for himself now. Fights like no other mech I ever seen -- a real game-changer," he prattles.
Blast Off arches an optic ridge. "YOU.... know Megatron." He states, rather flatly... and dubiously. THIS little mech knows the apparent up-and-coming star Megatron. Uh huh.
"Oh yeah, we worked a lotta the same mining shifts. I was there when the revolt went down. Lotta carnage that day, lemme tell ya." Rumble puffs away on his enercig. "He's an inspiration to alla us low caste an' empties who never thought we could come up outta that system. <CENSORED!> the Senate, man. Their days are numbered."
Blast Off glares at that enercig again, his irritation of which Rumble managed to simply ignore. Then he's back to staring at Rumble. What the mech says makes sense... he *could* see the low caste miner in there with Megatron after all. He still looks relatively unimpressed, though he feels compelled to agree with the last statement. "Yes." He's about to start trying to read again when instead he adds, "And about time. When someone as elite as *me* doesn't have a place in the system anymore, the system has /broken/." Never mind the little people *ahem*.
"This is the truth." Remarkably, Rumble doesn't take Blast Off's assessment as an insult. It could be that he's simply too...dim...to notice such a subtle class-related barb. "High Classte, Low Classte, No Classte..." He's apparently mixed up some words, but he doesn't appear to notice. "EVERYONE gets <CENSORED> by the Senate. See? Your Classte didn't even protect you from gettin' <CENSORED>!"
Blast Off didn't neccessarily mean it as an insult, either... but it /was/ one, or could have been easily taken as one, at least. The shuttleformer isn't the most skilled at navigating through social niceties, unfortunately. Plus, he really *is* a snob... or has a background in it. Recent events have shaken that snobbishness some, but the arrogance isn't probably ever going to go /completely/ away.
But social nicety or not, he does feel compelled to correct Rumble. "It's *caste*, not...." His voice contains a bit of snark, "Classte." Shuddering at the /uncouthness/ of that and of the cursing in general, he continues on. "But no.... it didn't. It should have, but.... the system's corrupt. I should know- it set me for a fall, and now I've got a huge bounty on my head. They just want to make an example of me. And I've already seen what happens when the government wants to make an example of you.... death." Another slight shudder. "Or worse."
"That's it, y'see? That's why we gotta band together. Strength in numbers, see? Even if it ain't in your class bracket to be street fightin', that's where the whole *spirit* of the birth of this movement is. It's about reclaimin' the strength that's rightfully *OURS*. Gettin' that power back. Makin' a better world. But it's only gonna work if we got everyone on board. Poor, rich, everyone. We're all worth somethin' in Megatron's movement." Rumble hops off the chair, then grabs another energex. "You're welcome to any of this, y'know. I bought 'em for me an' Shifty but I know you wanna join up, an' what's mine is yours." Very generous little uncouth scoundrel.
Blast Off deigns to look at Rumble and listen to the smaller, oh-so-annoying mech. Annoying far beyond any reason- he simply is. Of course, most people annoy him but this is trhough the roof. Nonetheless, he attempts to remain /looking/ calm and aloof. "....I suppose. Though all *I* want is a comfortable place to live, work- and for /NO ONE/ to tell me what to /DO/. *I* should choose my own destiny... not some idiotic senator." He glances at Rumble. "And I suppose that has immense appeal to a person such as yourself, too. Perhaps even more so, since you're nowehere near as fortunate as *I*..." *haughty sniff- that then stops.* "....Well, by that I mean alt mode, at least."
When Rumble mentions Shiftlock, the shuttle bristles again. "I don't drink cheap engex. I drink *wine*." Which he'll be waiting a long time for, most likely, with that attitude. At that LAST statement, the shuttle slowly turns and stares at the small mech, optic ridge raised. Oh Rumble, you have NO IDEA what that makes Blast Off think of. NO IDEA. Thoughts of Shiftlock dance through his head and he can't quite help himself as he asks drily, "**Anything?**"
"Uhmmm...welll...." Maybe Rumble can see where Blast Off's going with this. "Well, I mean...yeah, I said it, didn't I? Yeah." It gives him the slightest amount of pause, but no more than that.
That optic ridge raises even further, and there's perhaps the slightest /smug and truiumphant/ look flickering across the shuttleformer's face now. "I'll.... keep that in mind, then." If Blast Off wasn't wearing a faceplate Rumble could see the smug, half-grin on the Combaticon's face too. Though the reality sets in soon, and he returns to his usual blankness. Not like he's going to run up confessing his "love" to Shiftlock anytime soon, anyway, if it even IS that strong. Just... feelings, is all. Whatever *that* means.
"You didn't answer my question, though. I don't know how a mech like you makes it through a cycle, much less long stretches of time. I'd be rioting too. So do you fight in the pits, then?"
"I used to, all the time," Rumble answers with a grin, looking more cheerful to be discussing...something else, something less awkward. The whole situation with Shiftlock is kind of strange to him, though meaningful. She's such a wild and free spirit, however, he couldn't hope to keep her confined in a relationship. Which is why he's willing to compromise. "Up till really recently, I was. But it takes a toll. Megatron says he's got plans for me an' my brother Frenzy. He wants us to stay outta the fights directly till further notice. So I'm guessin' I got an assignment pretty soon, an' he don't want us gettin' busted up, which is understandable. So at the moment...I do some promotin', but a lot of my business is in the 'Joint, I'm a major bookie there."
Blast Off nods. "I see." He glances down at the datapad in his lap. "I knew someone once who would probably *love* a job like that." Swindle would have had a field day with that, after all. Siiigh. The shuttle feels a pang of loneliness again, missing his teammates once more, then shoves it aside like he does most feelings. "I suppose it's quite profitable. I...." He glances up again, "I am considering fighting in the pits. Just... to see what it's like. Shiftlock said they are quite... roomy? Like... room to fly?" He gazes at the small mech. "How... intense are they, anyway?"
"Oh, they're REAL intense. You get most of the city showin' up to watch, if the fight is between heavies. But yeah, HUGE crowds, an' you're fighting for your life, which is about as intense as it gets! The more you win, the more you get known, an' the more you get paid," Rumble points out. "Room to fly, transform, you name it. You get a whole arena built on site before the bout."
Blast Off frowns slightly at that information. Wait- LIFE?! The shuttleformer's suddenly not sure he wants to fight *that* much.... fighting's not his idea of civilized behavior, though he's not exactly uncomfortable with it, either, but really maybe he'd rather just stay here and read and....
He blinks. "Paid?" Wait- there's MONEY involved? Like- he could afford some real *enerwine* or something, or even a selection of reading materials? Maybe even eventually afford to live on his own again? Well... that's different. He *is* a Combaticon, after all.... it's not like he expects to *lose* a fight. No, his ego assures him, he'd be more than capable of defeating any opponent. "So I go, kill some low caste wannabe warriors, and achieve fame and- more importantly- fortune? ...What kind of weapons are allowed?"
"Yeah, that's the thing...hard work in the games gets rewarded in all kinds a'ways...prestige, money, respect. Usually ALL weapons are involved an' anything goes -- just as most of them are fightin' to the death, but once inna while there's some rules about weapons an' killing laid down just like in the gladiator tourneys. Cause we gotta train sometimes, or go for the softer bouts, but they don't pay as good," Rumble says. "I think you'd do great in your altmode...shuttle, right? Yeah, that's fast, you'd wipe out a lotta losers like that."
Blast Off smirks just a bit. "Yes, space shuttle. *Fast and effecient*. A few shots from my lasers and most of my opponents would be relegated to stardust. However..." His optics narrow, "Someday I'd like to get a broader attack. I used to have one... an orbital bombardment I could use to strike planetary targets from space itself. Before..." His optics dim at the thought of Garrus-1 and losing his forged body while his mind was imprisoned for millenia. He doesn't go further, just finishing with, "Before certain ...circumstances got in my way. I used to know someone who could get me weapon upgrades, but have... lost touch."
"If you're good," Rumble says, "Megatron's got all kinds of connections. If he likes what you can do? He'll set you up with that orbital lambada again!"
Blast Off glances to Rumble. "Excellent. Well- I'm *not* good." Pause. "I'm *magnificent*." Ego much?
"And what do you do when you're there? Pardon, but you don't look much like a fighter..."
"Oh, but I am! But like you, y'can't really tell in my root mode," Rumble says with a grin. "But check this out..."
Rumble transforms so that his pylons emerge. "In my minin' job, THESE were used to break fault lines through planets to get at underground energon deposits," he explains. "But in the arena, I use these to crack open mechs an' smash their laser core. Fast fatality!"
He transforms the pylons back into his body, then pops open another low-grade energex and guzzles it down.
Blast Off blinks. "What do you mean you can't really tell?..." The shuttleformer looks down, spreading his hands out in consternation. "It's obvious, isn't it? I have heat shields, and wings, and..." There's a glance towards the "tailfin" on his back, "And *that* and..." Then he stops. His reaction comes mostly from the fact that back when he had a *forged* body it *was* more obvious... There's a sigh, then he simply turns and watches Rumble.
Violet optics widen just slightly, and even he has to admit that that *could* hurt. Of course, in Blast Off's case, it'd pummel through his armor in no time flat- but first Rumble would have to *catch* him and that'd never happen! Ha! "Yes...on a groundpounder that *would* be devastting... but how do you deal with a flier? Aren't there a lot of them here? Is that what everyone does? Take their old jobs and find more destructive uses?" Not that that's bad.
"Don't take it wrong, butcha don't really look like a gladiator in your root mode," Rumble explains. "Even with the armor. Just sayin'. But I think you got potential in your shuttle mode to make a TON of money." He pauses for a moment, then explains, "When it's your life on the line, you find a way. You just...find a way to do it. It's like, drawin' from your inner spark an' findin' that strength you didn't know you had."
Blast Off huffs at that. "I'll have you know I am *quite* the warrior. I just... choose to pursue more civilized activities... usually. My cultured and classy carriage should not be confused with weakness, however. If I am *pushed*, well..." His optics narrow. "Let's just say ...pushing me is...unwise." Might as well throw that out there anyway.
Then he lets out a subtle sigh. "Yes... when you fight- when your life is on the line... there is..." He'd almost fogotten this, but he remembers it now, "There is a...rush. An... exhilaration. Even... even *I* feel /that/. And I... could use the shanix." He looks at Rumble. "What would *you* use money for, anyway?"
"Me? Welp...lessee, I got rent, my smokes, my energex tab at the Joint..." Rumble ponders. "Oh yeah, an' presents for the love of my life." He smiles dreamily. "Also, I'm savin' up to get a major re-mod."
Blast Off listens and nods- up until the mention of "love", which brings about another bristle. He withdraws slightly, hunching back over his datapad and glowering at it a moment, until his optics narrow slightly. Wait, what? He looks back up at Rumble. "Love of your life?! I thought you just MET her?" The shuttle can hardly imagine LIKING someone he just met. LOVING takes time... a LOT of time. Even *tolerating close proximity of any sort* takes a lot of time for the standoffish shuttle. He only just realized he has *feelings for her*.
He then assumes a mod can only mean one thing. "And what remod? You want to fly or something?" AS IF.
"Nah, we interfaced already. I never felt nothin' like that before. That's gotta be what love is," Rumble says wistfully. "She's the best!"
That probably took the piss out of the entire conversation. But just in case it didn't, Rumble prattles on about his remod. "Ah, Megatron's got somethin' in mind. He won't tell me what yet. It's on the drawin' board I think. Maybe more armor, or weapons. Maybe I'll get to be TALL. Heh."
Blast Off regrets asking that question almost as soon as he asks it. His optics widen as his ventilation system hitches up, then sputters rapidly with a series of coughs. Bending over, his engine revs slightly before he attempts to get himself back under some control. If Cybertronians blushed, he'd be doing that, too. The ventilation systems slowly return to normal through a lot of concentrated effort as he stares -hard- at the datapad in his lap. Fumbling with it, he tries to save face by pretending to start reading again.
Then he realizes he's still being spoken to- oh yeah, there's a conversation going on here- and he forces himself to look up and reply. Something. "Tall. Great. Just my luck..." He mutters, still unable to get his mind off that FIRST thing.
Blink. "Uh... I mean, good luck."
Rumble has no shame, and therefore is still there, grinning like the rotten little interfacer that he is. "Thanks!" he says cheerfully. "You okay? Got somethin' in your filtration? -- Oh, wait!" In a surprise gesture of thoughtfulness, he extinguishes his still-burning enercig.
Blast Off is now feeling like that old bolthouse /hovel/ that Shiftlock originally left him at isn't quite so bad after all.... yeah, maybe he should go back there... like... right NOW. The shuttleformer nearly whimpers a little before pulling himself together again. No. He's staying here. ...Somehow. The Combaticon turns to glare as Rumble suddenly puts out the enercig. There's a small huff. He just stares a bit at that, not sure what to say. Then he tries to relax a little again, leaning back into the chair. "I'm... fine. Just...yes, the smoke from the enercig ...it..uh, it caused an allergic reaction, I'm afraid." *Cough* again. Lie. "I'm not.... used to living in a place like ...this." Truth.
"No problem, I'll just smoke outside," Rumble says cheerfully, his mind already on...well, probably on Shiftlock, now. If Blast Off thinks THIS is bad, wait until the evening cycle, and the romps on the recharge bed! It will probably be too much for his good sensibilities to bear. "I know, it's cramped, kinda...not fancy. It's common, is what it is."
Blast Off may start going for walks... very Looong walks. Maybe to space, he thinks. Yes, space would do nicely about then. Orbital patrols? Bah. He'd rather face *them*, he decides, than... well ...THAT. ANYTHING but THAT. *shudder*. Worse yet, he *knows* what it's like... and yet he's too stubborn and aloof and unsure to just go and ASK Shiftlock. Ask if /that/ night meant anything or not. Thus the shuttleformer makes his life needlessly more complicated, alas.
"Thanks." He says, voice flat and hating his life at the moment.
Then he draws the datapad closer. "Yes, and I'm used to hobnobbing with society's elite, drinking the finest of wine, listening to classical music and opera and all sorts of theater and..." he stops, looks at Rumble, and sighs. "...All things I doubt /you/ can appreciate."
"How d'ya know that, though??" Rumble laughs. "Okay, so I never listened to classic music, or opera, or been inside a thee-ter. An' I never hobnobbled with anyone elite. So what?? My point is, how d'ya know I can't appreciate them??"
Blast Off blinks at that. The haughty shuttleformer raises an optic ridge again. "You." Pause. "Appreciate culture." His voice remins flat, but now with a note of disbelief. Yes, Blast off is so good at this "making friends" business, isn't he? There's a long silence. "But... being able to enjoy such things is a *skill*. As a shuttle, I am simply built for such finery. But a... miner?"
He suddenly realizes he's treading on dangerous, /functionist/ ground... again something sort of hammered into him through the caste system. He tries to soften and explain it a bit. "I just mean.... I'm *used* to these things. I don't know if someone like you could really enjoy them. I know Megatron encourages a complete dissolution of alt-mode functions, but... surely some things are built into us?" He glances skywards. "I... I miss the stars. I *need* the stars. It's... built into me, I suppose you could say. My alt mode DOES define me."
"Some things are a part of function, sure. I know what I like -- just like you know what you like, but a lotta that is also learned. It's who you been with. It's part of who you met, who you worked with, the experiences in your life cycle," Rumble muses, getting rarely philisophical. "Cause you didn't wake up on Activation Day knowin' all your favorite operas. You had to learn that you liked them."
Blast Off gives Rumble another long look...but this time, like it or not, he almost has to admit... the mech has a point. His look is more thoughtful; less disdainful. "That... is true, I suppose. I just..." He tries to remember that far back, staring at some random spot of the wall. Of course, his mind imprisonment hasn't made remembering those early days any easier. "I /think/ I always had a sense of... decorum. I was elite, therefore I knew I should carry myself as is becoming of someone of my station. My tastes in music and...other things developed from there." He glances back at Rumble. "So... are you interested in something besides fighting and...and..." he looks around the room. "Well, the dressings of a place like Kaon?"
"Sure! Sure I am. The mechs who live here, they have *dreams*. They got goals. Maybe they don't always make the best decisions or they get limited by their class or run-ins with the law...but the mechs who live here wanna live nice too. They wanna do fancy things," Rumble assures, as he swigs down a fourth low-grade energex. The stuff doesn't seem to have much of an effect on him, he's so used to it.
Blast Off watches Rumble down yet *another* low grade engex while espousing the benefits of high class. Uh huh. His optic ridge raises again, but only briefly. He still doesn't like Rumble... he's low class and, worst of all, he's seeing the femme *he'd* like to. But still, somewhere, in the back of his head, he can see Rumble has a point.
Blast Off leans back into his chair again, which creaks a bit as he does so. Hotel Royale it's not. "Then I am glad to hear it. They'll *need* those dreams. The Senate has made a point of taking dreams away... only those who remember what they *were* will have a chance of gaining them back. Or finding new ones." He looks down at the datapad again, musing on this Megatron fellow... one of these days he'll need to meet this mech, see if he's half the figurehead everyone else seems to think he is. The Combaticon's not easily impressed, so.... we'll see. "Just as long as their dreams don't cause a shortage of Orion 3 Orchards..." he mumbles. Ah, now *that* wine is a part of his dreams.... he sighs a little sadly at the thought, missing the fine life once more.
"Mech, once Megatron's in charge, we'll ALL get to drink Orion 3," Rumble insists. "Cause that's the kind of guy he is. I known him since the beginning. That's what he's about. Meet him in person an' you'll know what I'm talkin' about. He will leave a definite impression on you. Most mechs I take to see him are so impressed, they sign up right on the spot. But that's never forced, I mean...that's your decision." He grins.
Blast Off finds himself a little surprised as Rumble demonstrates knowledge of Orion 3 Orchards. "You actually know what that *is*?"
He listens further, and adds imperiously (despite his current situation), "Yes. It WILL be my decision." Implying he may go either way, he hasn't made up his mind. But what's important to him- what's *always* important- is that he HAS a choice. He looks back at the datapad. "As long as I have that decision... as long as *I* control my destiny, then... that is all I ask. All I... demand." Settling in to start reading again, he glances up at the smaller mech. "Everyone gets Orion 3? If he managed *that* then I *will* be impressed. He certainly seems to have impressed you. And all these lost sparks I see here in Kaon. I reserve judgement, however, but... if he can deliver on even *half* those promises.... he's already light years ahead of the Senate."
"Course I heard of Orion 3, that's some damn good enerwine," Rumble admits with a wide grin. "Can't afford it, but I had it after winnin' some major fights, one time. So see?? We got some class down here in the dumps. Not everyone is ignorant an' non-classy. It's just that the caste system, the way it is, is a barrier to betterin' life."
Blast Off studies the smaller mech. Color him surprised again. Rumble... has *taste* after all. "Indeed it is." He contemplates the state of the world, and the caste system. "Well... I never had cause to complain about the caste system until even *I* was thrown aside by it, but..." He nods to the other mech. "I do not believe in holding an individual down because of something arbitrary. If they want to better themselves, and are willing to work for it, then.... more power to them, I suppose." Blast Off is not the most compassionate individual- but he's not an oppressor at spark, either. He's simply live and let live. ....Unless you have a target on your back and he has a job to do.