Busy Night at the Bar

It's probably not that shocking to find Breakdown in here. Although not formerly a regular fixture at the bar, his bluish bulk has not been wholly uncommon in the past few days. At this particular moment, he has taken up a position at a corner of the bar that sets his spare tire toward the wall and his gaze toward the door. The weight of his arm against the bar's counter is keeping the staff from a little bit of a puddle that has formed at the base of his glass from the last time he set it down; it's been long enough that that's probably going to be really bothering somebody soon. He's not exactly checking his watch (ha ha), but he is definitely observing as others enter. He doesn't appear to actually be drinking, but it's probably just as well.
As unusual as it is to find Hot Rod out of the spotlight, it's a dark corner that he pries himself from to head for the bar. As soon as he's in motion, he's hard to miss. At his back a couple of less showy figures break from their places to quietly flow on out the door. Their mannerisms, the shortness of their farewells suggests tenuous ties at best, rather than friendship: the conclusion of some totally legitimate business dealing or another.
"Where's your friend?" Hot Rod asks as he elbows up not far from Breakdown. He makes a point of looking around him to see if Knock Out might be hiding in his considerable shadow.
A mostly white mech with a black helmet and snazzy blue visor strolls into Maccadams, stepping to the beat of a tune playing in his head. He exudes an air of confidence that practically invites others to step up, chat up and make friends. The easy-going warmth of his face and body language only helps in that matter. He hops up to the bar with one nimble movement and waves to the large fembot presently tending, letting her know that he's ready to make an order whenever she's ready to take one. The only thing that might be off-putting about this mech is the shiny red Autobot badge afixed to the hood of his altmode, chest level. He's one of the newly minted 'Autobots'.
Politics are often best studied from the remote distance of history, but when circumstance isn't obliging, the best way to learn about politics at ground level is probably to hang out in bars and other local venues and just listen. Perhaps that's why Nautica is back in Maccadam's again, with a glass of something relatively mild -- and her wrench -- on the bar in front of her, taking in the local chatter.
Watching the flurry of people on approach to the bar, Breakdown draws his drink closer in a slide across the unsightly puddle and narrows his eyes at Hot Rod in particular. His voice grinds from the depths of his throat, like he needs an oil can down there or something. "Busy," is what he says. Laconic. His gaze flicks aside, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the bar beside the puddle. He's SO FRIENDLY.
That's okay. Hot Rod can work with laconic. He just repeats it back at Breakdown with a lift that angles the word toward a question: "Busy?"
A scan of the bar draws his gaze to Nautica who -- despite hardly being able to count it as having /really/ met her -- gets a friendly nod of recognition. (Hey, yeah, how about those quantums!) The recognition fades as he glances at Jazz; the expanse of his friendliness narrows when he notes the badge. He doesn't exactly start broadcasting unwelcome, or anything, but he does look away rather than draw more attention.
Jazz is watching everything. The visor isn't just for looks; it deflects the light of his optics, so you never know exactly where his attention is focused at any one time. As the bartender approaches, he places his order. "Mechtini - Black label engex, shake it up, make it dirty and drop in an extra bead of mercury." While he's waiting for his order, he sits up, and immediately give Hot Rod a little salute and a knowing smirk. It's hard to miss paint that bright.
The Autobot badge draws Nautica's notice, too, but perhaps less judgment than Hot Rod's reaction implies. After all, even if she herself remains presently neutral in the conflict, at least one of the other Camien bots has already chosen to take on the same emblem that Jazz wears. So while the recognizable Hot Rod gets a wave in answer (perhaps thankfully not with the wrench), Jazz at least receives a nod of acknowledgment as well when he moves up to the bar to order.
"Yeah," grunts Breakdown, "busy, as in, not here. Where are /your/ friends?" Who he means to refer to with this inquiry is naturally a lot more vague; possibly the turn of his voice could be interpreted to mean /and why are you not bothering them instead of me/, but it's a little unclear. Without playing bulwark for Knock Out's particular careless breeze, he mostly seems to just be tracking everyone in brief flicks of his glance. His corner position at least makes it a little hard for him to be sneaked up on directly. His gaze weights upon Jazz for a beat, which is almost a pun.
Hot Rod /immediately/ gets the look of someone mentally reviewing their recent transgressions at Jazz's smirk. He didn't do it. He's innocent! (He doesn't know what a guilty conscience is, why are you asking.) He twitches at Breakdown's question, which is eye-catching with a bright spoiler such as he has. Rolling his shoulders in a settling shrug, he says, "I'm /making/ friends. You should try it. Both of you, actually. Positively antisocial." Look, he will demonstrate: "Hey again! How's the, uh, science?" he calls to Nautica. Friendly-like.
Elita One has arrived.
Jazz receives his drink, and sips it after setting down his payment. He turns around and looks at the crowd; Hot Rod is looking guilty and his badge is being stared at.
Nothing he doesn't expect.
"All right, all right, I ain't here to bust up the party." He takes off his badge, and tucks it into a side compartment. "See? Off duty. Y'all can take a deep breath."
Breakdown does not have a guilty conscience, if he has a conscience. The aspect of his raptor face, framed between the curving blades of metal that shape it, wavers between suspicion and general grump. When Jazz takes off his badge, he snorts. "Yeah, okay," he says. It's not very undervoice. He sounds like a skeptic. "Guess that means you're going to be making friends. Try making friends with Hot Rod here, he's real friendly." He dips his pointed fingertip in the puddle on the bar and begins, slowly to draw a circle around the base of his glass. He glances at Hot Rod, and then over at Nautica. "How's the science?" he repeats. His tone is snarkier thann it is friendly. The snark is probably not actually meant to be directed at Nautica, but it might be difficult to tell.
"Being less utilized than I would like," Nautica calls back to Hot Rod (and Breakdown), though cheerfully enough. "The embassy isn't really equipped for science. Or space travel." Still, to judge from her tone, if she doesn't find /something/ to do with her time soon, the embassy might end up redesigned with full interstellar jump capabilities. A bored engineer is a dangerous thing.
The sudden proclamation from Jazz, however, draws her attention back towards the Autobot. She watches as he removes the badge, and regards him curiously. "Does that happen /often/?"
Brainstorm suddenly opens the doors of the bar with a loud "BANG"! The turquoise and gray colored mech with a yellow faceplate strides in, the picture of confidence, and loudly proclaims, "YOU CAN ALL RELAX, BRAINSTORM IS HERE!" He walks in, nodding and waving as if he's a celebrity (the patrons who do look at him just look confused, like- who IS this guy?). He strides over to the bar, ordering a drink. The mech has a suitcase attached to his arm (but odds are- you don't notice it) and he's finagling with some sort of odd, small device that... defies categorization. 
He leans in to some random nearby mech and states (still loudly), "I'm working on VERY IMPORTANT THINGS, you know. Really busy. Really important!" Then he looks around the room at everyone and waves his hand dismissively. "BUT DON'T ASK WHAT IT IS! Too busy. Too secret! But really, I appreciate that you all care. SUPPORT THE SCIENCES! ...And things that go boom." Then he turns and waits for his drink, occasionally looking over his shoulder to glance around and see if anybody noticed him.
"Thanks for noticing," Hot Rod answers Breakdown. He aims at sarcasm but misses, lacking the native talent for dark sardonicism. He gives up on the attempt.
Better to stick to his strengths: since he's been labeled friendly and named Hot Rod by Breakdown, he gives Jazz a smile. He manages to delete guilt from his body language with only a little effort, though he remains poised and alert. "So what's the difference between off-duty and on?" he adds after Nautica's question. Any follow-ups are immediately cut short by Brainstorm's entrance. He looks fascinated. Now /that's/ an entrance. (Possibly he takes notes.)
Jazz takes a stiff drink after Brainstorm's entrance. He feels like he might need it.
"You'd be surprised," he asides to Nautica. As Hot Rod comes up, he sets down the empty glass and folds his arms. "Well, the difference between on-duty and off is that when I'm off, I can dance and stop takin' notes. Name's Jazz. I'm a cultural investigator, so, I'm here to savor the local flavor."
"Are you asking him to dance?" Breakdown asks. /Dry/ is a distinct quality to be found in his voice, so much so that he even picks up his drink for a sip with which to moisten it. Brainstorm is hard to miss; he doesn't miss him, but he also isn't commenting. You know. Yet. For one thing, this isn't funny at all if it isn't a one liner.
Elita One walks into Maccadam's soon enough behind Brainstorm that the door hasn't closed yet behind him, pausing briefly at Brainstorm's antics but soon enough heads further in, a package under one arm, her head sweeping the room as she takes in who is there and where before she works her way towards the bar, ensuring she stays away from the oddball mech where she orders a drink quietly before she turns and heads towards a empty table off to one side and settles down, setting herself so she can watch the room as well as the entrance.
There's no question that Brainstorm's entrance draws /Nautica's/ attention quickly. Sure, he managed to enter dramatically, with no small amount of panache, but that's secondary to his 'Support the sciences' proclamation; the Camien's attention is now firmly on the turquoise newcomer. And his curious little device. Sorry Jazz, Hot Rod, other bots; you just don't science enough. Utterly ignoring Brainstorm's earlier statement about not asking what it is, the quantum mechanic blithely does precisely that. "That looks interesting. Miniaturized components?" She's so caught up in Science that she doesn't yet notice the entrance of her fellow Camien.
"Cultural investigator, huh?" For all his friendliness, Hot Rod mixes skepticism freely with curiosity as he considers Jazz. "Does that mean you get paid to listen to music and watch vids because that sounds like a /great/ gig." Sign him up. (Assuming proper function.)
Brainstorm immediately notices Hot Rod's fascinated expression. "Ah! I see there a fellow mech who knows how to make an entrance, eh?" The turquoise 'Bot thumbs to Hot Rod's flame deco. "That's half the battle, isn't it? A genius like me, and a... a..." He blinks and looks at Hot Rod. "Racer, right? We both know the importance of these things." 
His talk with Hot Rod is interrupted hwever as Nautica suddenly zips on over. He looks at her in a brief moment of surprise, then beams. Then he suddenly looks slightly... standoffish. What one can see of his optics seem to dim a little in doubt. "I... I don't know if I should say. I... I don't know if you could *handle* it. We're talking some seriously amazing stuff here." He peers at her wrench. "Um...so. What exactly do YOU do?" He seems more fascinated now by her wrench than her.
Jazz turns in his seat to grin impishly at Breakdown. "I dunno mech, with a paint job that flashy I'm afraid I'd have competition t' be first on his dance card - which would be you, right?" Yes, he is absolutely waving a red flag in front of the big blue bull. It just wouldn't be a fun night if he didn't.
"Not exactly," he explains casually to Hot Rod. "I travel all over Cybertron and observe what the mechs and femmes are doin' in that location. The local attitudes, flavors, sights, sounds - I've been hobknobbin' with the turbofox hunters in Iacon and fightin' in the pits of Kaon."
"No," Breakdown growls. It's a lone syllable, weighted with dignity massing it at about the same numbers of kilos as, well, Breakdown. It is clear that he would prefer dishing it out to taking it. What a shocker. His glower looks indelible, like maybe it is as painted on and sealed as Hot Rod's flamboyance. He sets his drink down again, rolling a look toward the other conversation knot, and remarks, "Sounds ... flexible," in an understated tone that could mean anything, really.
Hot Rod spreads his hands in an expansive gesture at Brainstorm's thumb and question. Confirmation settles wordless in his smile. His humor lingers as he looks back to Jazz and Breakdown. "Yeah, no. Definitely no. He can't dance," he tells Jazz, happy to expand on Breakdown's monosyllables. Without Knock Out to needle, he settles for second best. "You should seem him on the tracks, for that matter, struggles with the curves."
The suggestion of travel pulls Hot Rod's attention past teasing. His interest sharpens as Jazz explains, and somewhat inevitably he asks, "Ever swung by Nyon?"
"I'm a quantum mechanic," Nautica offers Brainstorm brightly, waggling the wrench before placing it on the table. Her optics dim very slightly, however, as she adds, "Though there's not a lot of call for that right now, what with the Clampdown. I'm thinking of trying to find a way to keep busy with other things. General engineering, astrophysics, mechanochemistry, maybe even some history..." Her attention strays back to his little device on the table.
"Yeah, ol' blue boy there looks like he's more muscle than speed. Prolly a killer in a demo derby," Jazz appraises, unphased by Breakdown's threatening mein. He considers Hot Rod's question and knows where its going. Jazz knows a lot more than he usually lets on.
"Nyon, yeah, I been through there. The old capital back in the golden age - home to the Acroplex." He shakes his head disappointedly. "Shame what's happened to it now. The rust narrows are -not- a place you want to be when the sun goes down."
Brainstorm blinks in surprise. "You are??!!" Then he quickly says, "Well, of COURSE you are. I should've known from looking at your wrench." He nods, as if that makes sense somehow, then listens further. "Hmm. Mmm-hmm. Well. I don't meet a lot of fellow scientists here in the bar." He notices her gaze drifting over to his device. "Heh." 
Now all the talk about not being asked about it seems forgotten- instead he seems rather delighted that she's interested. "ALRIGHT. SINCE YOU TWISTED MY ARM." He holds it up so she can take a peek. There are color-coded knobs and gauges. "It's not a miniaturization device... exactly. Actually... it's the opposite. You know how sometimes there are teeeny-tiny little screws and wires that repairmechs and medics need to get to? Or nuts and bolts in smaller forms of weaponry? This device'll let you take out the piece that needs working on, actually shapeshift it so it *enlarges* for easier repair work, then miniaturizes it again so you can place it back in! Genius, huh??!!" He beams, then looks slightly ...hesitant. "Except... for a few problems. Here and there. But I'M WORKING ON THEM."
"Yes," Breakdown says with a slight lift of his head. Air escapes past his mouth in a long huff. It's a little like he was searching for the followup insult in Jazz's words, and is mildly puzzled to have not found it. He says, "What I do is obstacles." If there is threat in Breakdown's stance at the moment, it is a restrained, impassive threat: like a landslide that just hasn't quite yet been triggered. /In potentia/. "What you do, I don't know," he adds, the bulk of one bladed pauldron lifting in a partial shrug, "but I've never been very good at seeing through the dust cloud to find you." He finishes drawing his circle out of the puddle on the bar.
"Let me guess," Nautica says, looking at the device thoughtfully. "Either the mass remains unchanged, but the density reduces enough that the object simply disintegrates when enlarged past a certain point, /or/ the mass increases but the device isn't pulling the excess matter from the source you want. Or is the problem when you go to reduce it again, and have to deal with the excess mass?" The engineer turns her attention to Brainstorm, evidently curious how close she might have hit to the mark. "Genius, either way! Couldn't you use it for other applications, too, if the density problem is dealt with? Find a resource that's scarce, and as long as it's relatively uniform you could scale it up to effectively multiply it."
Hot Rod hangs on Jazz's answer with an intent interest quite different from the focus of his friendliness. He fairly glows (and that's not just his paint: his eyes brighten, his smile widens) when Jazz talks of history, of glory days, of old capitals and golden ages.
Then Jazz goes on, and Hot Rod's expression dims.
Yeah. That. "So you've been back lately, too, huh?" There's a flicker of something that's /not/ a smile on his face: slipping crooked, twisting and sidling off as he ducks his head and shakes it. His expression clears as he lifts his head, which would be better if it hadn't been so /very/ readable just before. "Yeah, you know me," he says offhand speedster-boast to Breakdown. "Best most people can catch of me is the dust cloud I leave behind."
Elita One has barely settled into her seat and starts to open the package when she pauses, a comm coming in taking her attention for awhile.. then with a sigh she closes the box back up, picks up her drink and downs it in one quick action before putting it back down on the table and heading out the door to go deal with another emergency.
"So that brings me to the reason I'm here, and as you may have guessed, it ain't for the abundance of premium energon," Jazz says. "I'm here because I'm on a missing persons case. I don't suppose I can hit you two mechs up with a couple of questions?"
Breakdown goes, "Uh-huh," at Hot Rod, becase he doesn't have a better comeback than sarcasm expressed only in the bland weight of wordless syllable: uh-huh. It's like a mature, restrained whatever. His eyes narrow as he looks up, marking Jazz with a lingering frown that would be more telling if his glower hadn't been so consistent throughout this conversation. He says: "That's a real convincing off-duty you do, friend."
Brainstorm stares at Nautica, looking genuinely surprised this time. "Uh... YEAH. How'd you... I mean, yeah...uh..." He waves a finger around almost absent-mindedly. "The last one." He continues staring a moment, then remembers to add, "Oh, and ...uh... random expansion. Sometimes an item I shrunk suddenly, spontaneously expands again. That's... kinda bad when I just put it back INSIDE the object." He makes a gesture with his hands to indicate an explosion. 
Then he blinks yet again as she calls him genius. Brainstorm likes that, and every part of him seems to straighten up with pride. He nods as she speaks, but seems to be fixated on her calling him the "genius" word. He reaches for his drink, then belatedly notices she asked him a question. "OF COURSE! I'm sure there are GAZILLIONS of things...Oh. Oh yeah... scarce resource multipication... that's a great idea!" He places his hands on the table, then reaches one up to attempt a handshake. "Brainstorm. What's your name again?"
Remember that 'I didn't do it' look that was plastered on Hot Rod's face? It makes a reappearance. "Uh, sure." His expression settles toward a smirk. "Yeah, off-duty." He exchanges a look with Breakdown -- or, well, he looks at Breakdown. He is the wrong little red guy to quite be in the habit of exchanging glances. Looking at Jazz again, he asks, "So, who's missing?"
Nautica reaches out to take the offered hand with a smile, giving it a shake. "Nautica. I'm one of the Camien delegation. They called me the 'science advisor' but really, I was the ship's engineer." She taps the wrench where it rests on the table, and adds, "Now it just means I sit in the embassy and try to think of things to do. What do /you/ do around here?"
Jazz brings up the image of a slender ultramarine flying-type femme from a holo emitter he has been carrying at his side. "This little gal. One of Blurr's friends - I'm sure you know who Blurr is. She went missing about a week ago." He ignores the pointed remarks about his being on-off duty; there's someone's life involved and that makes the blurred lines acceptable in his estimation. "Now, bots go missin' all the time, but this one seems to have gone missin' under suspicious circumstances."
"Never seen her before," Breakdown says. It's possible that he would say the same thing to any autobot investigator pursuing any bot, mech or femme, up to and including Knock Out, just out of contrarian principles, but in this particular case there does not appear to be anything particularly sinister about the blankness of his raptor features. His next query is unnecessarily prickly. "Why's it matter who she's friends with? Maybe you should be asking her buddy /Blurr/ where she is."
Brainstorm shakes Nautica's hand. "Oh- a Camien! OH... right." His expression- what one can see of it under the faceplate and helmet- seems to fall slightly. "Yeah... that's got to to really grind your gears." He returns to his drink, lifting it in a toast to Nautica, then taking a swig. 
Placing it down, he adds, "I'm an... inventor. Come up with amazing things that no one has created before, or think of things people need before they even know they need them, or fine-tune existing things and make them function all the better. I solved a food shortage on Praxus Nine... you know, back when space travel was allowed... using replicators and stopped a war on Leechemox by creating weapons that destroyed the shooters, not the targets. Pretty soon everyone was too paranoid about shooting any weapons at all to keep fighting. Heh." 
Then he also adds, "Nautica? That sounds.... nautical."
"Oh, I totally met Blurr. He knows my name," Hot Rod tells Jazz like he'd actually care, or like it somehow matters. (It doesn't. This doesn't stop him.) "But -- uh, I have no idea who that is." He leans forward to get a better look and makes a vague, appreciative noise. "She looks fast. She wasn't with him or anything." Breakdown's town kicks him to a slightly warier, "What makes the circumstances suspicious, anyway?"
Jazz turns off the hologram. "Because she's listed as low-caste mining scout in Kaon - but the last place she turned up was in Translucentia with Blurr. A week later she's gone without a trace, an' that coincides with an report of an assault in that same area." He looks at Breakdown, then at Hot Rod. "It's enough that neither of you know who she is. If I go into any more details I'm gonna end up recruitin' you to help me find her."
Arcee arrives quietly, heading up to the bar with the sad determination of someone whose spark's been hurt. She glances around at the different tables, then gets the bartender's attention. The mech seems to recognize her, at least to some degree, because it isn't every day he serves a pink femme.
"Enerfizzy?" he offers.
"Nope, something stronger tonight, go ahead and get me a couple of shots. Thanks." Arcee stares off at a point on the far wall, trying to figure out how she's going to give up her beloved pet to the police and still manage to look at herself in a mirror.
The easy gait Knock Out takes into the bar might be referred to by English-speaking humans in a few million years as "swanning" -- it reeks of a careless sort of vanity as he makes his way in, only a touch more careful of the crowd without his usual companion to break the tide for him. It's that same Breakdown that catches his immediate attention upon a cursory sweep of the bar, and he starts over, only noticing Hot Rod's presence halfway there. "Ugh," he says, sidling up to the larger mech's side while glaring at the other racer's /garish paint job/. "Why are you always here?" Sorry, Jazz, you don't exist to him yet.
The blue-and-white Camien femme listens to Brainstorm lay out his CV and credentials, nodding as she does so. "So basically, most bots would say you think outside the box. But I'm guessing you feel that it's awfully limiting just to ignore the /box/, and you'd rather think outside of the whole building the box is in." Nautica says this lightly, smiling as she does. "Because that's the best kind of thinking."
The question about her name, however, earns a slight pause. Perhaps she's starting to realize just how judgmental functionists can be, diplomatic immunity or no. Still, Brainstorm seems like a good, scientific sort. "My alt-mode is a submersible," she explains.
"Oh, really." Breakdown sounds pretty skeptical about this. His knuckles scrape over the edge of the bar as he sits straighter, turning his head to measure Jazz with the sweep of a long look. "What do you want with a--" He pauses. He looks at Hot Rod. He doesn't know what to call Hot Rod. (There's that certain creative spark for the obnoxious that he just himself must lack, and seek out in others.) "--/either/ of us?" is how he chooses to finish that question. His expression tightens perceptibly as the glow of his eyes marks Knock Out's approach, but since he can't flag him down and prevent him from leaping into this one without waving his arms around or otherwise being really unsubtle, he just watches. He doesn't have a drink for him. He just says, "He's being friendly," in a voice gone mostly uninflected, leaving him to interpret that as he may.
"Huh." Hot Rod settles his weight as he considers Jazz's words. The thoughtful tilt of his head doesn't quite sit easily in its stillness. "So what are you gonna do when you find her?" (He is not un-volunteering himself, here.)
Attention pulled around by Knock Out's entrance, he says, "Oh, /there/ you are. I thought maybe he'd stepped on you -- but no, I guess it just takes you a while to get anywhere." He pauses a beat, then unnecessarily adds, "Because you're slow." Like that implication wasn't /glaringly obvious/.
"Well, I'm -supposed- to take her back to her original owner," Jazz explains to Hot Rod, paying less attention to Breakdown as Breakdown seems less willing to help. "Y'see, she's stolen property. She was bought by a guildmaster in training - medic bot named Solvent - and he's accusin' Blurr of stealin' her during an argument at the Circle in Ibex. The IAA sent payment t' cover Blurr's little five-servo discount but Solvent ain't acceptin'. So if and when I find her, I have to return her to her original owner." Those last words are not said with any enthusiasm. In fact, they rather reek of doubt and distaste.
Being circumspect, the cultural investigator is aware of Arcee's downcast demeanor, as well as the senate badge she's decorated with. He leans over and asks, "Somethin' gotcha down?"
Brainstorm grins under his faceplate. "Oh, ABSOLUTELY. I not only think outside the box, and the building, I'm thinking outisde the solar system and all the way through black holes into white holes and back again to antimatter and to fermions, hadrons and bosons! And a couple' a alternate universes on top of all that while I'm at it! And that's all before my morning enercoffee!" He starts making grand, sweeping gestures as he says all this. 
Then he hears her alt, and if he cares he doesn't indicate it. At all. No, more like the exact opposite. "AWESOME. A submersible? So you get to go exploring places few others have seen, right? Find all kind of cool things. Name any sea creatures after yourself lately?" He seems to be grinning under the faceplate as he leans in, placing arms back on the table.
It takes a moment or two for Arcee to 'return' from wherever it is her mind has gone to escape her current misery...but eventually she turns, and looks over toward Jazz. "Hm? Oh, hi," she says with a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm...not doing so great, but thanks for asking. I feel like a lot of things right now aren't going well for me. But don't let me bring things down! They're just things I need to -- !" She pauses as she suddenly notices Hot Rod there, and she chuckles. "You! Thought you were just passing through," she says to Rod suddenly, then looks back to Jazz. "Seriously, thank you for asking. Short answer is yes, something's not going well. You're very right."
"/Who's/ stolen property?" Knock Out says with even more distaste than Jazz seems to publicize in his manner, a more surreptitious glance returning to Breakdown as he seems to belatedly note the tightening of his expression. Oh is something going on here.
Of course, he interrupts more serious conversation to roll his optics dramatically at Hot Rod's /attempt/ at a joke. ATTEMPT!! "You ought to make a career in comedy," he drawls at him. "With that kind of wit."
The reaction isn't the one she feared, and Nautica brightens. "No, not many ever get to see the bottom of the Mithril Sea," she agrees with him. "The number of things down there people haven't classified yet is amazing! I found a creature the other day that looked like a sheet of liquid metal, 'swimming' along by rippling itself. But when I got close, it pulled itself together into a much smaller metal sphere. Control of density as a defense mechanism! Can you..."
The blue-and-white femme trails off as her audio pickups register an odd combination of words elsewhere in the room. Nautica turns to regard Jazz in mild bewilderment, but he seems to already have moved on to a new topic with the pink femme. Turning back to Brainstorm, Nautica asks, "Did he just say something about a bot being tracked down and returned to an /owner/?" And then Knock Out gets loud, and probably answers the question.
The noise that Breakdown makes is difficult to transcribe, ground in the depths of his chest, between the burr of a cranky engine and a grunt. Hrrf. He flicks his fingertip against the curve of the glass. "Fragging scrap," he tells it, and asides, sardonic, to Knock Out: "Remember how Blurr said he didn't have any slaves?"
As Jazz focuses, so does Hot Rod, proving himself at least temporarily capable of doing so. He watches him closely, in fact, attentive to shift of expression and tone that imply his doubt and distaste. "Hey," he says, the world's easiest soft touch, "you know, I'd really hate to find out anything bad had come to her there."
It's as much Jazz's lean toward Arcee as her words that divert Hot Rod from Jazz's words. "Oh! Hey, Queenie. Yeah, don't worry about this guy. He's busy. MISSING PERSONS case," he says with really unnecessary and unsubtle emphasis as he tries to give her some kind of look or another.
Hot Rod gives Knock Out a sharp little smile that lacks only pointy teeth. (He's not a pointy teeth kind of guy.) He doesn't try to be funny again. Not immediately, anyway. Maybe he is just distracted.
"... I suppose I shouldn't be sayin' this," Jazz adds in a lower tone, keeping the conversation more locallized, "... but she's an outlier. Solvent's a medical bot who's studying how outlier abilities work, and he has a track record for -disassembling- things he doesn't understand." Somehow Jazz makes that visor of his look like it's frowning. "That's why I gotta find her first."
Knock Out offers Jazz a distinctly /skeptical/ look, although the other bot lacks the Autobot insignia that would allow him to really up the drama with it. "I /do/ remember that conversation," he says in airy reply to Breakdown. He smiles even /sharper/ at Hot Rod. With his sharp teeth. Snap snap.
Arcee sips her drink, her attention focused on Jazz and Hot Rod. She has no idea who they're talking about, though it sounds fascinating. "I'm not 'Queenie'!...well, not to anyone but my little Kicky. Not so little anymore, really."
Brainstorm leans in. "FASCINATING. I've seen some things like that, of course, but usually not that far down. Actually, usually not alive, either. Actually, usually not intact, either... more like lab specimens." Then he turns as Nautica comments on "property" and looks over at Jazz, Knock Out and the others. His own expression is pretty unreadable. "Hmm. yeah, I guess they did." He glances back to Nautica. "That bothers you?"
"Oh, sorry. Arcee, then," Hot Rod says, quite sincerely. He shakes his head, having apparently failed to convey what he wanted with a look, and makes a little ix-nay gesture at her more explicitly.
Hot Rod tries to fold the gesture into a general wave as he looks back at Jazz. He fails. "You know, if I knew where to find her--." He trails off with a suggestion of help, but doesn't actually commit himself to putting her in Jazz's care. "What was her name again?"
"I... suppose I'm just not really used to it," Nautica admits to Brainstorm, though it seems to trouble her. Or the talk about outliers, one or the other. "Caminus is still a colony world; when you're still building, you either work together or things go wrong for everyone. Cybertron's older. Bigger. Established. So the culture's different, here. I knew it intellectually, but... research always seems more reliable when you do it for yourself instead of just reading someone else's, right? Seeing it is different than just reading about it." She shakes her head, and then adds, "I need to get out of the embassy more often and find something to do. Maybe then the differences will stop catching me so much by surprise, right?"
"TC-I38, but she started goin' by the name Feint," Jazz explains, and then without missing a beat he asides to Arcee, "Oh, you're the one with the talkin' bug, right?"
"So what, exactly, were you planning on doing when you find her, again," Breakdown can almost feel his future self kicking him in the head for asking. He glances up the bar toward Arcee and his features go all the blanker. He says: "What?"
"You have a /bug/?" Knock Out's features twist with a distinct sense of /recoil/. Ew. EW. BUGS.
Arcee gives Rod a wide-opticed look of surprised, nods, then proceeds to hold off on the subject -- until Jazz just goes ahead and brings it back up again. She's about to answer, when she notices the way Breakdown's looking at her, then she just...takes a sip of her drink. "Talking bugs, where did you ever come up with such an idea?" she says. Oh Primus, what has she done??
Hot Rod visibly deflates as Jazz proves himself on top of that little bit of gossip: even his spoiler gets into it, drooping. He immediately tenses at the reactions from Breakdown and Knock Out and turns toward them all fired up to say -- something. Who knows what. Arcee's words cut through it and his words die before he can quite speak them. So he says, "Uh, yeah," instead.
Brainstorm nods. "I see. Yeah. Things here may be a bit more... complex. Lots of... layers, know what I mean? But you're a smart femme- I can tell you'll get the hang of it." He beams again, straightening to brush himself off just a bit before continuing. "Just learn from the best- people like /me/, in other words- and ya can't go wrong!" 
Then he turns to watch the horrified reactions to Arcee and her "bug", then leans in to whisper to Nautica, "And avoid people like THAT. No scientific curiosity there, amiright?" He shakes his head, then adds, "Yes! Exactly! Science is best conducted without too many *constraints*! Too many cooks spoil the enerbroth, right? And too many people telling you what to do or HOW to do it just stifles valuable research! So- yeah, I agree. Scientists should do the research for themselves, get hands-on... not get too wrapped up in theories and methods, if ya ask me. Just get in there and DO it." 
He taps his chin. "Oh, and that could work. The embassy might have something... probably something boring." His expression falls again, then brightens. "Or you could look for more exciting options..."
"'Talking bug'?" Nautica asks Brainstorm, clearly curious what /that/ is about. Really, this is /completely/ unfair; the engineer has found her best conversational partner yet on Cybertron, and yet the others in the bar insist on mentioning strange things that draw her attention away. So she pulls her focus back towards the conversation she's in. "And what sort of options are you suggesting?"
"Well, let's just say that I have access to aallll kinds of information," Jazz smoothly replies. "Don't let it get y' down, though. Prowl's just.... " He pauses, tapping his chin. "Well Prowl's just Prowl, an' I'm pretty sure I can keep him off your tail for a lil' while. Best place t' hide your friend is gonna be right under ol' table-flipper's chevron. Try the nature preserve in Iacon. They already have a domesticated Insecticon hive there, he should be able t' fit in. Y' might also see about gettin' him tested for the intellectual class. S'why Ratbat's a senator and not beastmode a' burden, y' dig?"
Arcee nods to Jazz, still working on finishing her drink, because it gives her something more to focus on than the sudden interest of other, less savory bar patrons. "I just don't want him getting *harmed*," she speaks very softly. "Because..." She didn't really *know* these guys. To her, Jazz was Rod's friend, and she barely even knew Rod. But they seemed both kind and trustworthy, and on a lot of levels, she was in big trouble right now. "He isn't to blame for the trouble I'm in. And he shouldn't be."
Breakdown looks like he finds all this fascinating, but the kind of fascinating that gets less so if you open your mouth. He sips from his (terrible) drink. "Yeah?" he prompts at Hot Rod, all be it a little dryly. "Yeeeah?"
"Yeah, well, trouble's got everyone's name on it these days," Jazz sighs. He looks at Breakdown now. "If I find Feint... well..." He frowns; he's already going to end up dodging Prowl over a talking insecticon and turning over someone to be dissected really doesn't sit well with him. He's been force to essentially be a narc to the government for years through cultural investigation, and it's been nagging at him. The lines are being drawn on all sides and there is less and less wiggle room for someone who bends the rules like he does.
"... If I find her, I suppose the best place to take her would be where she came from: Kaon." Yes, that is presently being held by Decepticon revolutionaries. Better a live revolutionary than a dead disposable caste.
"Are you a bug-lover now?" Knock Out wonders innocently at Hot Rod and his attitude. He glances a little sharply at Jazz and his plans for Feint once he finds her.
Brainstorm seems interested in the talk of bugs and outliers, too, but after a moment turns back to engage Nautica again. He leans in a little closer, even turning his head to look conspiratorially left and right before taking out a small business card, emblazened with his face and an address. "Here. I work with a research company. This here's the address for one of their subsidiary branches. Feel free to drop by sometime and ask about work. Tell 'em I sent you. We do *important* things, but I can't tell you more just yet- or I'd have to kill you!" He laughs at that, big joke, hahahah! 
Then he suddenly stops laughing and casually adds, "Oh, and be sure to commit that address to memory because the card will self-destruct in ten seconds."
'Table-flipper'? Hot Rod mental notes that one with a quirk of his eyebrows. Breakdown's needling gets a sharp look, and he answers Knock Out with a hot flash of temper: "You know what? Sure, why not. Little bug deserves the same rights as anyone else does, anyway. He sure was a lot nicer than you, anyway."
Breakdown gives Jazz a long look. It is clear from his face, however much he appears to be trying not to react, that this was not the answer he was expecting. Maybe he is trying to decide whether he believes it or not. When Hot Rod says /that/, about the /same rights/ as everyone else, he actually smiles, white teeth peeking in his scarlet face. It's interesting how a face can change when the glower has been scrubbed clear. "Being /nice/ is a good way to get run over," he says.
"That sounds like it might not be a bad idea!" Nautica replies brightly, glancing down at the card, though a small portion of her attention remains on the other conversation. Disposable outliers being 'dismantled', talking bugs who might be intellectual class... it's all very interesting! But then Brainstorm adds his little post-script to the statement, and draws her full attention. "By 'self-destruct' you mean...?"
Nautica quickly places the card down on the table, just in case it's something more than dissolving. It /probably/ doesn't explode, but then again, you can pack a lot of bang into a small size if you really put your mind to it. She's not certain if Brainstorm's joking, but on the other hand, it /would/ be an impressive demonstration of capabilities. Timed disposal of objects? She can't quite help her own curiosity. "What starts the countdown? Removal from the storage container?"
"/I/ never said they shouldn't have rights," Knock Out claims in Hot Rod's direction, settling a long-fingered hand over his chest. "Just that they're kind of unattractive to look at. But that's probably why you like them. Birds of a feather."
Arcee is feeling a bit bolder now with the stronger drink in her, and...yeah. It's been a really BAD past few cycles for her. She's sick and tired of bullies, assassins, jerks. If she wants any semblance of a decent life back, she's going to have to keep these kinds of rust-suckers in their place.
"Excuse you," Arcee glowers at Breakdown. "This isn't even your conversation, okay? No invitation to revoke because there was no invitation to begin with. Mind your own business." She frowns at Knock Out, also. "You too. Butt out."
"So's being slow," Hot Rod tosses off at Breakdown with a huffing little rev like he's going to run circles around him RIGHT NOW just to prove his point. Like a child.
(He somehow controls himself.)
Hot Rod's temper cools into a glower as he meets Knock Out's claim with a frown. "You got anything under your paint but more paint"?
"Did I say something to you, femme?" Breakdown asks with a prickle of irritation ground deep in his voice as he shifts in place, arm weighting against the bar's edge at an angle that very nearly slides across chekhov's liquor puddle. The sound grates like scrapy metal. "Cause I don't think I did. You want to take your /private conversation/ somewhere you might want to do it somewhere /private/, because I was just /sitting here/ before /shiny/ here decided to show up and try and drag my wheels into some kind of sludge." He pounds back the rest of his drink, turns it upside down over the puddle. Nominally over the puddle. 
Breakdown tells Hot Rod, "He's got more under his /finish/ than you've got anywhere in your frame, /fancy paintjob/ and all."
Knock Out seems about to reply to Arcee, but simply spreads his hands in an agreeable sort of gesture as Breakdown says all that needs saying. "As my friend here said: we're just enjoying ourselves in a public establishment." He smiles at Hot Rod in a smug sort of fashion as Breakdown answers /that/ particular question for him as well. "I have /skill/."
"No, I'm NOT taking my conversation ANYWHERE else, you just need to get your grill out of my face and keep moving. Sick and tired of this garbage. Take your scrap-aft somewhere else. I'm serious." Arcee folds her arms across her chestplate, and waits, presumably for the other mechs to heed her and mind their own business.
Brainstorm nods, his voice hinting at a grin, "Yep." And it does, indeed, explode... though it's more like a birthday party candle fizzler which makes a popping sound, fizzles and goes out. The colors of the sparks produced are even turquoise, gray, white and yellow- just like Brainstorm. 
As the bar seems to heat up, Brainstorm looks over to Arcee, Jazz, Breakdown and the rest are speaking. "NOW, NOW, mechs, femmes, I'm sure we all came here to have a drink, a laugh, maybe marvel a bit at my genius, have a good time. Now go on, please, your earlier conversations on talking bugs were much more amusing." He places his hands on his knee servos and listens attentively, as if expecting to be amused any moment.
"If y'all are done measurin' the size of your dipsticks," Jazz interjects. "Maybe we can do somethin' pleasant or productive with the rest of the evenin'." He stands up and slides off his barstool. He touches the side of his helm, receiving a transmission; shortly after, he takes out his Autobot badge and places it back on the center of his hood.
It's fairly inevitable that Hot Rod would settle opposite Breakdown and Knock Out: "Hey, she has a name, you know!" This, from the guy who called her Queenie mere moments ago. He looks liable to launch into further defense (slash antagonism) when Brainstorm and Jazz begin defusing things, and it's maybe only Jazz pulling back out that badge that really settles him. He dials it back to a simmer.
"I was here first," Breakdown mutters, surly, but definitely not in such a way that looks like he is actively trying to make more trouble. More like he's sitting there at the corner looking dour. His grumbles are more like an engine ticking over than one revving for action.
The card's colorful (and Brainstorm-themed) demise earns a short, approving laugh from Nautica. The rising tempers -- and her conversational partner's shift in focus -- then turn her attention back to the others in the bar. With a glance to Brainstorm -- you coming? -- she picks up her wrench and makes her way back over to the others. "So!" she adds, brightly, as if through sheer force of will she can shift the topic and cool some of the tempers. "What do bots do for fun around here?"
"Dance," Jazz replies cheerfully to Nautica.
"Yes, he /was/," Knock Out follows up on Breakdown's words. "So I think you might consider calming down." He turns a more charming smile on Nautica when she approaches. "Race," he supplies.
Arcee looks over at Brainstorm, then smiles suddenly, as if she were never even mad in the first place. "Oh, we were just kidding around, did you think that was...a /thing/?? Heh. Bugs don't /talk/!"
She laughs, then turns and notices the 'tender has filled up her glass yet /again/! What a guy. "Whatever." She shrugs and sips her drink.
"R--drive," Hot Rod says, his answer fairly obviously changing when he desperately dodges to the side to avoid echoing Knock Out. He gives Arcee a sidelong look and notably fails to acknowledge that Breakdown was, in fact, here first.
Jazz's hand goes to his helmet and his good mood drops. "A'ight folks, it's been nice talkin' with ya, but I gotta jet. Bein' called in." He pats Arcee on the shoulder. "Keep your friend safe, and consider what I said." With that, he jogs out the door, picking up speed as he goes.
Through the large glass front windows, Jazz breakdances down into his altmode and takes off with a kick of jet boosters, quickly vanishing from sight.
Brainstorm beams back at Nautica, and joins her in approaching the others. At the mention of "dancing" he blinks and suddenly takes a few steps backwards, then edges over to Knock Out and Hot Rod. "HEY RACING'S FUN." He then adds, "I guess. I haven't done it. Too busy doing SCIENCE. But going breakneck speeds fast is /fun/." He nods his head enthusiasticly. 
Arcee gets a blink, then... he laughs too. "Oh. HA HA HA!! JOKE'S ON ME, I GUESS!" He nudges her with an elbow. "GOOD ONE." Then he stops, looks at Arcee, scribbles down a note he brings out of subspace and then puts it away again. He watches Jazz leave too, and seems to study him a moment, then his more relaxed expression returns and he takes a swallow from his drink.
Breakdown apparently doesn't do anything for fun around here because he doesn't say anything. He exhales a low breath, watching Jazz move off, and then turns forward again, turning his upside-down glass right side up.
Arcee waves toward Jazz as he departs. "Nice meeting you!" she calls to him as he leaves. She chuckles at Brainstorm, who doesn't seem to be the bad sort, either...a little eccentric, perhaps. Whatever sudden rage she had boiling up inside of her just moments ago has been effectively diffused...which is probably for the best.
"Sounds like everyone around here enjoys racing." Despite her still-cheerful tone, Nautica's enthusiasm has dimmed somewhat as she makes this observation; her alt-mode is, after all, somewhat unsuited to any sort of /land/ race. Why don't more people have science as a pastime? Though Jazz liked... well, no, Jazz left. The Camien places her wrench on the bar, and waves to the bartender for a drink.
"Wonder what that's about," Hot Rod murmurs as he leans back to watch Jazz transform and zip off. A reasonable conclusion immediately follows: "Probably don't want to know."
Refocusing on Brainstorm, he looks to Knock Out and then back again. "Bet you could use science to go even faster, though. You should try it! Isn't that kind of like a way to prove how great science is?"
"Why," Breakdown wonders kindly of Hot Rod, lifting his glance with a sideways tip of his head, "did you want a boost?"
Knock Out cackles a laugh out loud that is really a rather undignified sound. It's worth it, though.
Arcee is quiet, for now. Nautica gets an interested look. She sounds like an academic, at least to Arcee, and she very well could be. For now, Arcee is actually pretty calm. Jazz has solved her immediate dilemma, that of the bug-who-shall-not-be-named. So she's free to think about other things.
Once she receives her drink, Nautica offers Arcee a smile in greeting. Hot Rod's comment, however, seems to merit a reply. "Science can /always/ make you go faster. If I can successfully miniaturize quantum engine pods, you could theoretically break light speed!" A pause, as she considers this, and adds -- just in case the flame-emblazoned bot needs the clarification -- "But don't do that on a planet. It would be Very Bad." She doesn't clarify whether for Hot Rod, those around him, or the planet.
Brainstorm looks at Hot Rod. "OH INDEED!" He exclaims. "How do you think I know just how break-neck breakneck IS?" He suddenly pops his neck, like there's an old injury there. "Ow." Then he returns to his usual high energy-enthusiasm. "I even tried to add near-FTL boosters to my engines... but for some reason the Cybertronian Aerospace Division frowned on that and took my boosters away." He shrugs. "MIGHT have had something to do with those skyscrapers under construction that I accidentally destroyed. And the space elevator. And the historical monuments. No was hurt, though." Pause. "...Much." 
He shrugs again. "ANYWAY. Yeah, you guys want me to try adding some racing enhancements to your systems, just let me know. I"m always looking for new v...volunteers!" He looks to Nautica. "Oh. Well, and that might be another reason."
Hot Rod's interest in that line of conversation cuts off rather abruptly at the response from Breakdown and Knock Out. "I don't need it! I'm just -- making conversation!" His shoulders roll up, defensive bristle written from spoiler to wheel. He gives Brainstorm a particularly close look for the hesitation in his phrasing and says, "I'll keep that in mind." Brainstorm is immediately filed under 'DANGEROUS. DO NOT TAKE CANDY FROM THIS MECH.'
"I /do/ rather like the idea of driving /faster than the speed of light/, but I'm rather particular about my alterations." Knock Out flicks off an invisible speck of something from his finish as if to make his point.
For some reason, this is enough to take the edge off of Breakdown's scowl. His teeth show in a hint of white in the red field of his faced. He says, "Heh." It's somewhere between a real chuckle, and a guy saying ... 'heh.'
Arcee is just very quiet this entire time. Perhaps this is just how she gets when she's had a bit too much to drink. Either she's an aggressive, raging femme-warrior, or she's a quiet eavesdropper.
As the boys apparently jostle and jockey for position as Alpha Fast/Cool Bot, Nautica turns her attention to the otherwise-quiet Arcee. "Hi," she offers cheerfully. "I'm Nautica." She presents her hand, an offer to shake. It would be slightly more effective if she didn't have a large wrench in it, which is a fact that only occurs to her a moment later. Placing the wrench /back/ on the bar, she makes a second attempt.
Arcee hms? She turns toward Nautica. "Hi! Arcee," she greets -- then suddenly chuckles, as she nearly shakes hands with a wrench. "Nice wrench, what sort of work do you do?"
"Hey, I need to get going." Hot Rod says this with an absent-minded sense of self-importance, even if his need to get going is undoubtedly stupendously trivial. "Let me know if you need help with--" Hot Rod breaks of, looking from Brainstorm to Knock Out and then sweeping out to all the others who eavesdropped on that totally RIDICULOUS idea of a talking bug. "--that project," he says. "I think it's cool, what you're doing." Leaving his contact info with Arcee, he heads on out. He ignores Breakdown and Knock Out, because that is the ONLY WAY he is going to ensure they don't score any further points on him today. You win some, you lose some.
Brainstorm nods enthusiastically to Hot Rod, then looks at Knock Out and shrugs. "Eh. Suit yourself. Not everyone is ready to handle *GREATNESS*." He brushes *himself* off, looking smug, and turns to watch Nautica and Arcee. And Nautica's wrench, 'cause that still fascinates him, too.
Up on the roof, a single mech looks around silently making sure everything is clear before moving towards the skylight, making sure to not be noticed. Lockdown's optics start scanning the crowd, finally locking onto Arcee as he makes a opening. Making sure the roof is clear one last time, he reaches behind him as a sniper rifle starts to deploy out of the slot in his back. Kneeling down as he takes up a classic sniper position, waiting for the right moment to shoot.
"Quantum mechanics, originally," Nautica replies to Arcee. "Among other things." Apparently, she won't subject Arcee to the same litany of interests and studies that Brainstorm was. "Though right now, not a lot."
"You can test it on Hot Rod first, then give me the stable, secure model," Knock Out suggests dryly to Brainstorm. "Anyways." He glances at Breakdown with a clear 'I'm done' sort of expression -- didn't even get a drink! -- before starting to slip away towards the door.
"You should be working in academia," Arcee notes to Nautica. "I thought you might be a racing mechanic -- which, by the way, is no small job in and of itself! How did you find youself here?"
Breakdown glances at Knock Out with mild consternation, but turns his empty glass back upside-down in the puddle of liquid -- what a mess -- before he slowly rumbles to his feet to follow him out. After all his insistence that he was here first, it seems like it doesn't take that much to dislodge him after all.
"I'm part of the Camien delegation," Nautica offers in explanation. "Theoretically, I was the 'science advisor', but what that really meant was that I was the ship's engineer on our way here from Caminus. Then everyone was grounded, so now we're not going home for a while." Which, no doubt, explains why she doesn't actually have a proper job, task, or pastime; not a lot of use for a ship's engineer when the ship isn't flying.
Lockdown smirks behind his mask as he takes careful aim, scope moving into positon as part of the faceplate shifts from his right optic. He takes note of the others nearby but doesn't seem too concerned as he says to himself, "Quick and clean this time, get the brain module later." It takes him a few more moments to confirm that Arcee is in his sights before finally pulling the trigger.
"Oh, that's a shame that you're all prepared to go out on this exciting mission, and then...grounded. What a bummer," Arcee remarks with a frown. "A complete letdown. It must have been so amazing to get picked for that delegation, though. What an opportunity. Keep the hope that things will calm down politically, and you'll be able to make the journey again!"
Arcee them moves slightly to reach for her energon glass, and in so doing, misses the slug that was intended to blow her head off. It explodes into the nearby wall, sending explosive chunks flying.
Arcee screams, dives to the ground, and crawls beneath the nearest table, which is probably near where Brainstorm is seated.
Brainstorm is about to head over to Arcee and Nautica's table when Arcee suddenly screams and heads under his. He grasps his briefcase, looking startled. "WHAT? WHAT?" He looks frantically around. Then stares down at Arcee, muttering, "....I know I'm a genius and all, but people aren't usually trying to kiss my *feet*..."
"Well, at least I made it /here/, even if I can't get hoooooooLY Primus!" Nautica cuts off in mid-word as the wall nearby explodes. It's only a small explosion, but it's still not the behavior you usually expect from walls. The engineer picks up the wrench from the bar, turning towards Brainstorm... then stops. She looks at the damage to the wall, and then turns, trying to follow the path back to where the shot came from. After all, figuring that trajectory out is just physics, and not even /complicated/ physics at that; it doesn't even involve quantum foam or alternate dimensions.
After all, she fully expects someone's going to want to talk to them about this later. And through science, /all/ things can be answered. She hopes.
"That was a *shot*!" Arcee remarks from beneath Brainstorm's table. "Nautica!! Be careful, you could be next!"
Lockdown's optics narrow as Arcee's luck lets her avoid the shot. Quickly pulling the rifle outta sight from his position at the skylight, he glances down to assess the situation. Pondering whether to take another shot or not now that the crowds in a panic.
Brainstorm says "A SHOT??!!" Brainstorm's optics widen in alarm and very quickly he's under the table with Arcee, looking around in alarm. No, this mech is NOT the bravest spark out there. "I"M TOO SMART TO DIE!""
For someone used to doing quantum math in her head, the trajectory isn't hard to trace; Nautica looks up at the now-broken skylight. "It came from up there! Brainstorm, do you have anything with you that could..." The engineer trails off, as she turns and sees now that Brainstorm is under the table as well. She's suddenly feeling a lot less confident about being the only bot /not/ under a table. It occurs to her that maybe she should approach this situation from a slightly less Action Science, slightly more Self-Preservation angle.
So she heads for the door. Was there logic to this? Presumably.
Arcee is joined beneath the table by a terrified academic. The pink femme herself probably would come out of hiding, if she didn't feel so much like a fish in a barrel. "Sorry for all this," Arcee tells Brainstorm regretfully. "I think I've made someone's 'list'...and I don't mean their party list, unfortunately." She peers carefully as Nautica heads for the exit. "...Oh no. Where's she going."
Taking note of each cybertronians position, Lockdown chuckles as there seems to be none with the spark to try and investigate what happened. Though now with his target cowering with another it makes his job harder. Yeah he's allowed to take care of witnesses. But theres still too many. For now the bounty hunter makes a quick check that the local security isn't on the way.
Brainstorm slowly peeks from under the table. "Yeah... what she said, Nautica- be careful! And uh... yeah, I've got a device here or there that'll measure trajectories and bullet expansion and yardage... easy peasy. But I kinda left my /forcefield/ at home. SO I'LL DO IT LATER. After the killer LEAVES, OKAY?" 
He ducks back down under the table. He stares at Arcee. Oh slag, who did he get himself involved with? "I knew it... I should have just stayed in my laboratory today. How'd you make this list, may I ask?"
"I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and I think I saw things I probably shouldn't have seen, and I can't unsee them," Arcee tells Brainstorm, giving him the Cliffs Notes version. "Looks like my options are beginning to diminish. I can't really live like this...but I'm NOT going to die like this. No way. I'll just need to figure a way out of this mess."
Nautica slips out the door, then turns to face the building. Whoever's responsible for this... they have to still be up on that roof. If she's feeling sensible, she could stay down here and watch for them to try and depart; if they prove to have a flight-capable alt-mode, she can at least get a description. Unfortunately, 'common sense' and 'Nautica' don't always go together. How hard can it be to climb this wall?
Brainstorm starts rummaging around through his subspace compartment, bringing up and tossing various odd bits and pieces. "NO... no...NOPE. Definitely NOT." He keeps searching through what appears to be a rather *large* subspace storage, considering how long he's been sorting through stuff. 
He pauses to look up at Arcee. "I see. No, wait, I DON'T see. What kind of stuff? Top secret government conspiracies and now you're the only one who has lived to tell the tale and you have 24 hours to get the information to the proper authorities before they wipe out everything you know and love?" He stares at her, then shakes his head. "NAH. THAT'S RIDICULOUS." He goes back to frantic rummaging.
Stowing the rifle, Lockdown turns and starts to walk towards the end of roof facing the alleyways. He doesn't turn his camo on yet as there doesn't appear to be any Autobots rushing his way. But that doesn't mean he's alter as his facemask fully closes shut once more.
"Mech, you might not be far from the truth..." Arcee listens for a moment. "I think we may be in the clear," she whispers, and very slowly emerges from the table, still crawling along the floor until she can get a better view of the damaged skylight. Then, she stands up, gesturing for Brainstorm to come on out.
Quantum mechanics, mechanochemistry, astrophysics, stellar cartography... Nautica's used to doing pretty well at things she sets her hand to. Unfortunately for the Camien, it seems that this doesn't quite fall into the same category as her other studies. 'How hard can it be to climb a wall?' Apparently, harder than she thought. Clinging to the side of the building, not quite certain where her next foot or handhold is, she mutters to herself, "Right about /now/, I /really/ wish I was flight capable."
Brainstorm peers out from under the table as Arcee exits. "You.. you're sure it's safe?" He gazes about a moment longer, still unsure about this, then finally conceeds and emerges from his hidey-hole as well. "Nautica? Where'd you go? You're not pursuing whoever that was that just tried to kill us all, are youuu~? That would be a BAD IDEA."
"Ssh. The shooter might be still around. I don't hear him, though. Quick, let's get out of here, Nautica went outside," Arcee urges Brainstorm in a low tone, gesturing him toward the front door. "We'll be safer out there -- we can at least see him if he shows back up."
Lockdown raises an optic ridge as he looks behind him but shrugs as he switches his right hand for a hook as he decides to make his decent into the alleyway. Though by the time he starts, its most likely he'll be noticed depending on how fast anyone can climb.
Nautica finally makes it to the top, poking her head up over the lip of the roof, and looking across to see... someone else climbing over the opposite edge, preparing to go down. It's at this somewhat inopportune juncture that it occurs to the engineer that, in the heat of the moment, she didn't exactly plan what she'd /do/ when she made it up here. So she tries for, "Hey, stop!" It's probably not going to have the effect she hopes, and even Nautica realizes this as she says it.
Brainstorm looks back and forth between Arcee and the underside of the table. BUT...BUT... SAFER? How is it SAFER? He's OUTSIDE. We're INSIDE. If WE go OUTSIDE TOO... then... we're BOTH OUTSIDE." He gestures this all with sttiff chopping motions. "I'd like to be a physical state of SIDE he's not IN YET." 
He blinks, then looks back up to see he's about the only one left here now, so he scurries to catch up with Arcee, still rummaging through subspace as he goes.
Arcee emerges from Maccadam's, trying to remain close to the side of the building in case the sniper is hanging off the side. "Nautica?" She makes her way around one side, then notices Nautica up at roof level. "What! Oh, no..." She dashes over in the other femme's direction.
"Frag," Lockdown mutters to himself in a scrambled voice as he glances up to see Nautica as she yells out. Though of course he doesn't do as the femme suggests as instead he keeps going, slightly kicking off the roof as he extends the line from his hook. Deciding right now its best to get to ground level before making any other moves.
Of course he didn't do what she asked; assassins aren't usually that polite. Nautica watches the Mystery Assailant vanish over the other wall, and then considers her options. Climbing up onto the roof and heading across won't do anything; she'd be able to watch him vanish down the alley from overhead. Hearing Arcee below, she starts back towards the ground. "He's headed into the alley," she calls down as she descends.
Brainstorm makes it outside with Arcee, then looks up to where Nautica is. "Oh mech, oh mech, oh... Er, femme, whatever." He seems slightly twitchy as he gazes up nervously, then rummages again. The turquoise colored mech finally finds something and pulls it out to look at it before starting to press buttons. "This might help... a catalog of various sounds." 
The first button pressed emits the loud sound of something that sounds kind of like... snoring. Brainstorm blinks and presses another button. Now it's the Cybertronian equivalent of a nusery rhyme for newly formed Cybertonians... imagine Barney the Dinosaur singing "I LOVE YOU, YOU LOVE ME..." Brainstorm frantically presses another button, and this time it's the right one: "THIS IS THE POLICE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"
Arcee looks up toward Nautica, and is considering her options. She really *wants* to catch this guy, but he's already proven that he's well-armed. What does she even have to match something like that?
What, indeed. Brainstorm arrives with his fantastic...sound creating thing. "...What. Seriously??" How's that going to --" She startles a bit when the 'police sound' plays. "If you could keep playing that, that'd be great," she says.
Lockdown quickly looks up to see if theres pursuit and once its confirmed there are none he finally decides to activate his camo. Fading out of his sight he looks around slowly before making his way towards a corner of the building to look out.
Nautica reaches the ground again just as Brainstorm's device goes off, patting the wall once. Goodbye, wall; Primus willing, their paths part here forever. This done, she makes her way over to Arcee and Brainstorm, gesturing towards the back. "You think that sound will hold him in place long enough? He went over the wall that way. I realized I probably shouldn't follow..." Common sense: better late than never?
Brainstorm nods to Arcee and keeps mashing the button, playing the police sound over and over. He even finds the police sirens sound and adds that to the mix. Finally, he stops and looks to the pink femme. "Maybe that did it?" Nautica arrives and Brainstorm looks relieved. "You SURVIVED! Good! We NEED more SCIENCEY TYPES here, you know."
"I think he's still back there, and he's still ARMED, for sure," Arcee reminds her companions. "Maybe he's convinced; maybe he isn't, but unless either of you are armed -- because I'm not -- I think we'll just need to let him go and let the sky spy do the rest of the work."
Lockdown is silent as he looks towards the sound but only shrugs as he finally decides to move on as his target was now out in the public eye. Walking away from the trio he transforms into vehicle mode and drives out of the area.
"I know, I know. It was an impulse, and I shouldn't have done it. But I wasn't going to actually try to /apprehend/ him!" Nautica assures Brainstorm. Because apparently, her plan just to ask the suspect to politely stop and wait for someone to come and arrest him. To Arcee, she adds, "I /did/ get a look at him, though. Not a great one, but a glance."
"You did??" Arcee looks impressed at Nautica's gumption. "So were you able to see his armor colors and such? I know it was quick, but any details are helpful."
Brainstorm wags a finger at Nautica. "Definitely not." Then he taps his chin and looks back up towards the roof. "But I gotta say, you showed some struts." He looks back to Nautica. "Just be sure to use that processor of yours, too." He also seems interested as she states she saw the shooter. "Yeah... what'd you see?"
"Dark, with no real distinguishing markings I saw," Nautica replies, shaking her head apologetically. It's just sinking in that she did something really reckless, and didn't get as much out of it as she could've. "The only thing that might help was that one of his hands looked like a hook."
"A hooklike hand apparatus...OK..." Arcee takes note of this in her work tablet. "Thank you so much. I'm definitely taking this information to the police."
Brainstorm blinks at the mention of a hook, but doesn't say anything else about that. He straightens up, holding up the sound sound device. "I'M SURE my little device here SCARED HIM AWAY." He looks a bit smug as he subspaces the sound machine again. Then he looks around at the street, the empty bar, back to the femmes. "SO. I guess I should get back to work. VERY important stuff to be doing."
"And I should probably head back to the embassy before I cause a diplomatic incident or something," Nautica admits, with a nod to Brainstorm. "But I remember the address from the card, so I'll probably see you soon."
Brainstorm nods to Nautica. "GREAT. I may see you soon, then!" He gives her a jaunty wave and heads off.