Excitement and Egos

Not many people are here in the morning, and that's exactly the way Shiftlock likes it - especially since she's done something that could get her killed. She's been sitting quietly in a booth in the back, going over two datapads at once with a mug of energon off to one side. There's a small container of an unusual fuel additive near the mug, tinting the energon a gold color instead the usual. She sips her drink, while making marks on one data pad with a stylus.

The brilliance of Hot Rod's coloring dulled by a light coating of dust, he shoulders in through the doors carrying himself as though freshly waxed and polished to a shine. He has the look -- and judging by his quick order, the thirst -- of someone who has just finished a satisfyingly long drive. He lacks the smugness of victory or sullenness of defeat, so no racing here, officer. (Yet.) He angles fairly readily toward Shiftlock when he spots her, coming up alongside her booth. "Hey! You look busy." He eyeballs the additive with transparent curiosity.

Shiftlock waves Hot Rod over to her booth. "Have a seat!" she replies with a welcoming grin. She sets her stylus down to pay attention to the mech, and makes note of the dust. "Working caste?" she asks. "Or was it just a drive through a rusty area?" If Hot Rod is observant, he'll notice that there's a list of names on one data pad, and what looks like some kind of official paperwork on the other.

"I'm just filing some papers," she notes, following Rod's optics to the additives at her side. She picks up the container of booster and shakes it a little. "Necessary medicine for me, I'm afraid. My engines are somewhat unique."

"What, you thought I was maybe intellectual?" Hot Rod sort of answers, sort of doesn't: he slides along the edge of her question with a discomfort rooted in distaste. He cloaks it with cheer, leaving it not quite clear where his distaste is aimed. (It might not be hard to guess.)

Observant, much like intellectual, isn't the first thing people usually think of where Hot Rod's concerned, but as liable as he is to poke after anything and everything, it's certainly possible that he sees more than he lets on. A list of names, though? Official paperwork? Save him from paperwork, /please/. "That sounds boring. Don't file papers. Why would you do that?" His tone is playful, and he accepts her answer about the medicine with a nod, and a polite lack of further inquiry.

"Promise you won't shoot me?" Shiftlock asks, completely deadpan.

Hot Rod lifts his hands and holds them out in a gesture that is as much of harmless and innocence. "Besides," he adds, dropping his hand to rest them on the table in a lean. "They'd kick me out."

Shiftlock seems pensive, as if she's trying to quickly decide on something very, very important. It's written all over her face; her plates are slightly elevated and her engine changes gear out of neutral. She vents uneasily.

"You might have suspected before from the drinks." She reaches down, getting into an outer thigh compartment on her right leg. She takes something out of it with one hand.

Shiftlock spreads three badges on the table, towards the wall and away from general sight: There's Autobot red, Decepticon purple and Senate gold.

"I wouldn't be showing this to you unless I had nothing left to lose," she explains. "So if you wanna walk away right now, you can; but I have this feeling that you're the type of mech that doesn't really -like- how things are going on this planet anymore. I just gave the Senator that owned me my walking papers."

Patient to her pensive, Hot Rod waits. It's clear that this does not come naturally to him: he shifts, before forcibly stilling himself, and nearly speaks, before carefully quieting himself. When she talks, when she moves, he's more than happy to settle in and lean forward. He moves all in a rush, breaking into eager movement with the lean. He gives a startled little twitch at the three badges, but looks at each in turn, to her, and then out across the bar before looking back. "Owned you," he repeats, and it's /not/ a happy sound. One might suspect her feeling more than right. "Good for you. What's all that about then?" He nods at the badges, a little uneasy, but it's the Senate gold that gets the most wariness from him.

"Owned me, correct. I'm not counted as a sentient being because of what I am. I'm classified as a tool," Shiftlock replies with no small amount of distaste. "I can change shape," she explains, keeping her voice low and down. "I'm a shifter, and if what I've been told was right, my kind is largely extinct because of Nova Prime. They took things from me, Hot Rod. Took my memories. I don't know where I came from anymore. If I had conjunx or amica endurae. If I had any kin. I don't even know if 'Shiftlock' is my real name. I had to go to a psychologist who specialized in memories because they tried to wipe me all over again a few days ago. I've got scars on the back of my neck and memories that -do not belong to me-." She stops and takes a drink of her energon.

"All of this," she says, setting down the cup with a soft \*thunk\* against the table and gesturing to the badges, "is what I was used for. Since I can look like anyone, they used me to keep tabs on people all over the planet. Get them names, faces, addresses. Places of work. Cities of origins. Whenever I got more information than they wanted? They'd just erase my upper memory banks."

One might wonder at the wisdom of telling Hot Rod anything that could be remotely considered maybe kind of secretive given the transparency of his expression as he listens: outrage for the treatment of both Shiftlock and others of her kind becomes sympathy only turn into anger on her behalf. That lingers longest, and he fairly bristles with the need to act. Naturally, his first question is, "Who?"

Hot Rod taps the table next to the gold Senate badge -- that corruption begins there he seems to take as a given, and wow, he's just asking for trouble with that -- and says, "Do you know who's responsible? Did they take that, too? How are they even doing it? That's not right. That's not even on the same planet as right. What are you going to do? How can I help?" This, too, he takes as given: obviously there must be something he can do.

Shiftlock picks up the badges, hiding them in her hands, and places them back into her thigh compartment.

"Have you kept up with the news lately?" She asks that as if the question is going to provide it's own answer as to who. "As for what to do... I don't know. I came here to figure it out. I'm an Empty now, and there will be Enforcers coming to find me, if they can. All I can do right now is try to get the truth to as many people as possible. Wake them up somehow."

"Of cou--oh," Hot Rod says. The surprise on his features immediately rearranges into a thoughtful narrowing. There's a touch of calculation in the way he evaluates her. "If you need a place to lie low, I know ... people in Nyon." He knows dot-dot-dot people, specifically, and what's a nice guy like him doing hanging out with dot-dot-dot's anyway. "But that's not really what you need, is it. And you can change, right? So maybe they can't find you? But telling people -- it's going to be easy to dismiss without proof. Evidence. We need to get it, if you don't have it already. Have that in there with the badges?"

"-I- am the evidence, and unfortunately, a copy of my memories has been stolen," Shiftlock explains. "And... I can't hide forever. Remember this?" she asks, picking up the container of fuel additive. "If I have to shift without enough of this in my system, I'll go into stasis lock. Or worse. This is a restricted compound, and they'll be waiting for me to come get more."

This time, when Knock Out slides into Maccadam's, he's looking distinctly more annoyed about it. His finish is clean and polished in direct contrast to Hot Rod's dust, because he is clearly the superior bot between the two, but at least Hot Rod's mess makes it easier for him to be spotted. The mechanic tromps over to where Hot Rod is sitting with Shiftlock in what is clearly a private conversation and proceeds to butt in by dropping a package on the table directly in front of the racer. "Stop. /Leaving your things/."

"Yeah, but are you good enough?" is really the wrong way to phrase it, /considering/. Even Hot Rod seems to realize it, throwing himself into reverse and trying again: "I mean, won't they say you're making it up? Especially if you don't have the memories. Maybe someone else can get that stuff for you. How uncommon is it? What if I--"

Whatever else he might say is cut off by Knock Out's arrival. Hot Rod gives him a companionable sneer that flashes into something like panic when he sees what Knock Out drops off. Oh holy shit a datapad, don't let anyone know Hot Rod can read. It would ruin his image: all frame, no processor. He snatches it back. Rather than say thank you, he demands, "Did you read that?"

Shiftlock very wisely moves her datapad full of names and government dossiers out of Knock Out's way, turning off the screen. She finishes her odd-colored golden energon quickly as well, and puts the container of additives away into a secure location on her personage. "Hello Knock Out," she greets pleasantly. "It's very kind of you to return lost property."

Rewind slips into Maccadams, still possessing the somewhat watchful and wary look of a person used to being treated as less than Cybertonian. His metal surfaces are in good condition now, so whatever his past experiences may have been it seems life has decided to be a little more kind lately. He has a camera attached to his helmet, but it's not currently on.

The small mech walks in and immediately notices Hot Rod- who DOES stand out, after all- and recognizing his earlier kindness will give him a wave should he be noticed. He doesn't know the other two, and wouldn't presume to butt in on them.

"/You're welcome/," Knock Out says in lieu of /actually receiving thanks/. As to Hot Rod's demanding question, he just smiles that sharp, shark's smile and turns his attention back to Shiftlock. "It's hardly lost property; it's thoughtlessly left behind property."

Hot Rod slides the datapad away with a degree of fluster that delays his return of Rewind's wave. Though belated, his greeting is not only warm, but a little rueful for his distraction. The unease returns as he takes in Knock Out's smile. He narrows his eyes. "Stop that."

That will surely work.

Looking from Shiftlock to Knock Out and back again, Hot Rod says, "It's nothing. Anyway. So. --hey, wait, you know, he might be able to help you," he says with sudden surprise (and somewhat grudging acknowledgment).

"Not unless he can get me into space," Shiftlock says to Hot Rod. She looks up at Knock Out. "Unless you happen to be a shiny red space shuttle...?"

Rewind nods to Hot Rod's wave, then proceeds to walk up to the bar. It takes a moment for the bartender to even notice Rewind is there, but the small gray and white mech is able to order a drink. He pulls out a small amount of shanix and pauses to look at it, counting it carefully before handing it to the bartender. Upon receiving his drink, he turns back to Hot Rod, the only person he knows, and edges a bit closer, listening to the conversation.

Knock Out smiles wider, in what is surely the least unpredictable reaction ever. Hi, Hot Rod. He's startled out of it by the other bot's sudden volunteering of his services. "What?" He looks to Shiftlock next, suddenly uneasy. "A space shuttle? No, thank God."

Shiftlock notices Rewind inching closer. "Might as well join the party," she suggests. "Besides, you're not gonna get the power you need drinking that weak rustwash, let me get you something better." She may have limited funds now that she's on the run, but that has never stopped her from helping someone else who may be worse off than she.

"Well," she sighs. "I suppose I could always go sign up for the gladiator matches in Kaon. Might not be a bad way to earn money."

"Ugh." Hot Rod turns away from Knock Out and even puts his hand up to physically block that stupid smile. This is a more mature reaction than PUNCHING IT OFF HIS FACE, which is obviously a temptation. "Look, if she wanted to -- uh, if she wanted to change her look, think you could help?" he asks Knock Out...'s general direction, rather than Knock Out himself. When Shiftlock invite Rewind closer, his tone warms with a cheerier, "Hey again. Seen anything interesting?"

At that very moment, someone else enters the bar. Only this time it isn't accompanied by the cacophony that came the time before. Which is perhaps somewhat odd.

No, this time Blurr seems to be alone. Since when did he ever go anywhere alone? Still, there's no mistaking that ultra-stylish form. He walks up to the bar, and sits down, resting his head on a hand. The bartender starts toward him, but he just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. Apparently he doesn't want anything right now.

Shiftlock might want to turn into someone else before he looks her way...

Rewind looks up in surprise at Shiftlock. There's the pause of someone who's learned to be a little wary of strangers, but then he seems to relax and takes a step closer. He glances from her to Hot Rod, Knock Out and back, then back to the femme. "...Thank you." His voice is a little muted, but there's a genuine warmth as he says, "Thank you."

Hot Rod addresses him, and he looks up at the flame-painted mech. "Well... not much lately, no... it's been a little slow..." At that moment, Blurr enters the bar. Rewind turns around and adds, "Oh. Well... things may have just gotten interesting, though. Isn't he that famous racer?"

Without asking, Shiftlock suddenly reaches over and holds Knock Out's hand.

There's a noise like the clicking of tiny metal insects, as Shiftlock's features disperse into millions of barely perceptible micro-transformation plates, restructuring into an exact duplicate of Knock Out. In the brief contact, Knock Out is able to get a sense of Shiftlock's emotional state and surface thoughts - she's afraid and it's all because of Blurr. In return, Shiftlock may get a brief flash of whatever is going on in KO's finely polished head.

"Knock Out" brings a finger to his mouth and shhhhes everyone. "If anyone asks--" She even has his voice! "--I'm your clone brother. I'll explain later. Just -act natural-."

"/What/." Knock Out does not act natural. Knock Out's thoughts are full of distress at being /touched/ because /oh my God what if she scratches his finish/, and also a general annoyance right in Hot Rod's direction tempered with a smug satisfaction that he now has a certain amount of knowledge he can now lord over the other racer with.

"/Stop that this instant/," he hisses. /No one can look as pretty as him/. "What in Primus' name--"

"Kind of hard to beat the other day, huh?" Hot Rod follows the direction of Rewind's gaze to Blurr and perks up. "Oh -- man, he totally knows my name," he tells the table, like he has mentioned /every time Blurr has come up since then/. He looks like he's on the edge of throwing up a hand to flag Blurr down--

And then /that/ happens. Hot Rod falls back in his seat. Seeing is very different from hearing and he stares from Knock Out to Knock Off -- a stolen joke, sorry to say -- and then back again. "Why would you copy /him/?" Because that is clearly the most important question.

Rewind ...stares as Shiftlock suddenly becomes... someone else entirely?!?! The small mech is utterly flabbergasted, and stands there, staring, for a moment before he returns to his senses. Given what all he just witnessed, he actually recovered pretty quickly. Then he flinches, and hisses out a small "d'oh", immediately lifting a hand up to his camera. "You don't mind if I turn this on, do you?" He hopes.

What kind of archivist doesn't have their camera rolling??!! He missed it! Here was his big chance- well, wait, he did get that footage of the talking Insecticon... but STILL... what a loss. Vector Sigma, he ought to have that thing rolling all the time, that's what he ought to do... He looks up at Hot Rod and replies, "Really? Are you both racers or something?"

Suddenly, Shiftlock is a copy of Knock Out. Just in time, too, it seems--because at that very moment, -right- after she had finished her transformation, Blurr turns their way. And again, Hot Rod catches his optic. He gets up from his seat and smiles slightly, waving in greeting. "Hot Rod, right?"

"For your safety," Knock Off explains to Rewind, "You'd better not." The duplicate car slides over nearer the wall, more out of sight, talking low enough to keep the conversation just to them. "The answer is very simple: Knock Out's paint job, while well manicured, does not stand out as much as yours, Roddy. I'm making due in a pinch."

"I said /stop it/, why are you still--" Knock Out cuts off when Blurr approaches, mostly to glare at the famous racer. "Ugh," he says in a really distinct, unsubtle sort of way. NO ONE INVITED YOU, BLURR. Fortunately his dislike of racers more famous than he is overcomes his desire to make a scene about Shiftlock turning into him.

Rewind looks a little disappointed, but respects "Knock Off's" request and doesn't start his camera up. Though that becomes even MORE TRAGIC AND CRUEL when BLURR comes over and STARTS TALKING and OMP WHAT AMAZING FOOTAGE THIS WOULD BE...\*ahem\*. \*sigh\* So he just stands and watches for now.

Hot Rod looks only too delighted to put himself in the same category as Blurr when Rewind asks: "Yeah!" he says, enthusiasm brightening his expression. It dulls the hurt -- /the hurt/! -- of Knock Off's choice in template so that he accepts it with a tip of his head and a glance at Knock Out (and Knock Off's) paint. Fair point. "Hey! Yeah, hey Blurr," he says, swiftly getting control over himself when /Blurr remember his name/. "Run any good races lately?"

Knock Off picks up his things and attempts to slide out from the booth and away from the others, headed to the bar to get Rewind that drink. Let's see if he can make it past Blurr and Hot Rod as they converse...

Blurr nods. "Sure, you know me, I'm always running good races." He sits down next to Knock Off, and chuckles at the sight of the clones. "You know, I -think- I've seen you on the tracks before." he says to either Knock Off or Knock Out. "Who'd you race against? Oh and tell me, who copied who?" As in who was the real racer with the overzealous fan. Is he suspicious of this clone thing? After all he does know Shiftlock can change shape, and he DID see her hanging around Hot Rod before...

"/I/ have not copied /anyone/," Knock Out out says with more than a little self-righteousness. "/This/ kind of beauty cannot be copied, although I guess I have an /overzealous fan/ who has tried." He shoots said fan an irritated look.

Arcee peers inside timidly, her gaze going immediately to the skylight and not any of the patrons in particular.

"Well, what I can say?" Knock Off sighs with an apologetic smile. He sidles up to Knock Out. "I just... I couldn't help myself, I mean just -look at him-. Who WOULDN'T want to make themselves into this... this... MAGNIFICENCE!?"

Knock Off's grin goes creepy as his optics widen and he gets EVEN CLOSER to Knock Out. He leans over and whispers, "... I saved all your trash. And I watch you sleep at night." 8D

"Yeah, you know, he races. We've gone a few times," Hot Rod says, trying to get the conversation focused back on him, here, please put center of attention on him. (He's just trying to help out Knock Off, that's all.) Yet he looks taken aback by the sudden intensity of Knock Off's fan impression and leans away, glancing to the side. Hey! Arcee! Not someone being creepy into Knock Out! He waves.

"Sorry, I can't stay," Arcee admits to Hot Rod. "I almost got killed in here last night...mech shot at me through the skylight. I need to go to the police, but I was hoping to catch Maccadam in so I could tell him I'm so sorry for this mess and...and I'll pay for it..." She pauses, looking torn between entering and leaving. She chooses leaving. "I need to go to the police station. Bye!"

Knock Out-- twitches. Knock Off may not /actually/ be a crazed fan, but he's doing a /pretty good imitation right now/. "Excuse me," he says stiffly. "I think I need to deal with my /stalker/." He makes a grab for Shiftlock's wrist or arm or -- whatever he can grab for to try and tug her out of the bar. WE ARE HAVING WORDS.

"JUST LET ME SMELL YOUR EXHAUST FOR A LITTLE WHILE~!" Knock Off cries as he's drug away.

Blurr chuckles. Whether he's fallen for the charade or not isn't yet evident. Yes, fans trying to emulate their idols isn't uncommon, it's happened to him before, but he hasn't seen one who looked -that- perfectly identical before. "So you race, too?" he asks Hot Rod, the diversion working for the time being.

Rewind stares as Knock Out drags Knock Off away and... again... \*SIGH\*. This would be such great footage. He continues sipping the small drink he ordered, since it's looking less likely he'll get the one Shiftlock had meant to order for him. But it was a nice offer. He glances at Blurr. Just... sometimes unexpected things happen.

Between Arcee and Knock-Knock, it takes Hot Rod a little bit to come back around to answering Blurr. "What? Oh. Yeah!" With Blurr right in front of him and making conversation, you would really think that Hot Rod would stop looking back at the door for Knock-Knock. And yet--! "You know, nothing big, but sure I have." He gestures at himself. "Kind of have to when you look like this, right? Hey, sorry about that friend of yours, Feint. Heard anything?"

Blurr shakes his head, sighing. "Don't be sorry...I think it was for the best anyway. I don't think she liked me. Maybe she's better off on her own anyway, she probably just wanted more freedom." He shrugs. "I'm sure I'll see her around sometime." Probably not.

Rewind discovers that Shiftlock left him some money after all when the bartender suddenly hands him a drink. He blinks up in surprise, then beams as he steps away to enjoy his new, improved drink. He watches Hot Rod and Blurr speak but doesn't have much to say at the moment. He's probably a little star-struck himself, too.

"You're not worried about her?" asks Hot Rod. He seems openly puzzled by Blurr's response and leans forward. "Why wouldn't she like you, huh? You're Blurr!" Duh. "She was your--?" The difference between Hot Rod and Knock Off is that Hot Rod assumes he is Blurr's friend while Knock Off (seemingly) assumes he's Knock Out's /soul mate/. Nevertheless, there's a degree of assumed friendship that he hasn't really earned.

"No," Blurr shrugs at the question, though it's probably a half-lie. He is kind of worried about her. "With what she can do, I'm pretty sure she can take care of herself." Though his optics are turned down toward the table. "Just don't worry about it, it isn't your concern."

The racer shakes his head and looks out the window in the direction of where Knock Out and Knock Off have gone. "Pretty spot-on emulation, I don't think I've ever even seen one that good before."

Rewind blinks. "You have a missing friend?" He looks a bit nervous speaking to Blurr, but finally gets the gumption to add, "I...I'm an archivist. I could... look through my records, try to find something. Don't know if I would, but.... Well, if... you'd like, I mean."

Predictably, Hot Rod asks, "What can she do?" When Rewind speaks up, he turns toward him: "Oh! Good idea. Should've thought of that," he says, sounding annoyed at himself. "You've really got a lot of data?" Only then does he follow Blurr's glance toward the Knock-Knocks. "Ugh. Knock Out, really? I've beaten him." (And he's beaten Rod. Notice which part he says.)

"I'm not sure how to explain it exactly, but she can make people hallucinate." Blurr explains, still looking out the window. He shakes his head at Rewind's offer. "It's okay, I've let it go. She ran off herself, so she must have just not been happy living with me."

He pauses, and turns back to Hot Rod. "I'm sure you have, he looks nice but his form isn't as aerodynamic as it could be. Still, that knock off was almost...-too- perfect."

Rewind looks up to Hot Rod. "I've got some.. yeah. Trying to get more. The guy I... work for is trying to get me access to even more data files than I've already managed to catalog and store, and... well, yeah. I've got quite a bit." He looks to Blurr and nods, "Oh. Ok." He makes a point to himself to start looking around his files for the name "Feint" anyway... more of a personal exercise in data recovery and trivia for him than anything else.

"Wow. Hallucinate? Huh. How?" Hot Rod gives Rewind a smile. "You're good at that kind of thing, huh? Never had the patience for it. If it helps, I guess she also goes by TC-I38 which...." He trails off a little and shrugs broadly, all shoulders and spoilers. "Sometimes people don't want you to look for them too hard, though." He glances back toward Blurr, confusion carrying a slight uneasy note that wipes when Blurr disses (disses!! this is how he will repeat it!!) Knock Out. "Yeah, he really isn't. Anyway, what a waste that fan of his, right?"

"I don't know." Blurr shrugs. "It's just a weird ability, I guess. It's pretty cool." He smiles slightly. "Anyway I'm not too worried about her. She'll be fine on her own."

He looks back out the window again. "A waste maybe if that's what he actually -is-. And speaking of people with weird abilities, I only know -one- person who can create--or rather -become-, -that- perfect of a knock off."

The racer starts to get up from his seat and head toward the door. Hot Rod! Rewind! Quick do something! Save her!

* BOOM!\*

A sonic boom erupts outside.

Rewind nods enthusiastically. "Oh, yes! I suppose I'm a bit of a bookworm... I can get to reading in an archive I'm cataloging, and before I know it a whole solar cycle has passed. I've even been reminded I need to recharge and refuel... and found myself passed out on a pile of datapads once or twice. But... it's just so \*interesting\*." He makes note of Feint's other name, "Thanks!".

And then Blurr suddenly speaks and starts heading to the door just as a sonic boom erupts nearby. Rewind, as small as he is, is immediately knocked over, sent flying and skidding across the floor and leaving gray smears of paint as he goes. "Ow ow ow ow..."

Hot Rod leaps to his feet to follow Blurr, trying to get ahead -- because let's face it, once he's behind, there's no catching up to him. His reaction to a sonic boom at close quarters is not the reaction of someone who displays caution or sense: he moves toward it. He works to avoid trampling Rewind, but trying to get ahead of Blurr doesn't leave him a lot of chance to stop and help him up. He casts an apologetic glance, while asking, "What? You know someone who's that big a fan of Knock Out? /Why/?"

Blurr curses when the sonic boom goes off, realizing that she's already gone. Hot Rod never would have been able to catch up with him if it hadn't been for that. He sighs, turning around. "She's not a fan of Knock Out, Hot Rod." he says, his voice stern. "She's a -criminal-, and she's on the run from the law."

Rewind pulls himself up from the floor. Ow. Rubbing his aft, the small bot looks over where, sadly, his drink got spilled while he was knocked across the floor. \*sigh\* again. He looks at it a bit sadly, but... at least he got to drink some of it. He glances back and heads over to pick up the older drink instead. Then looks towards Hot Rod and Blurr. "A criminal?" But... but she was so nice.

"Oh no," Hot Rod says really convincingly. Hint: no, he doesn't. "What did she do?"

"A number of things. She tried to steal boosters from my hab suite in Translucentia Heights, and more recently, she beat Ratbat to a pulp." Blurr gives Hot Rod an incredulous look. "I would have thought you'd have at least heard about Ratbat. That's been all over the news."

Rewind's optics open wide. The nice lady-bot who bought him a drink is a hardened criminal? He looks down towards the floor, considering all that's he witnessed so far. That just... doesn't seem to make sense. People can act nice when they're not, of course, but still... she had no reason to buy him a drink. There was no benefit to her. It's not like he is somebody important. So... no, somehow, that just doesn't make sense. He looks at Blurr. "I thought they didn't know who attacked Senator Ratbat?"

"Hey, you okay?" Hot Rod leans toward Rewind in a check of damage from his tumble that is both quick and belated, then straightens to face Blurr. He spreads his hands and meets incredulity with innocence. "What? Sure, I heard about that, but -- man, how could it have been her? Why would she even do that?" He nods at Rewind, seconding his confusion. His innocent, innocent confusion.

"Because she is an anarchist." Blurr says, his fists clenching briefly. "And sure, that's the -story- all right." He says in response to Rewind's question. "But really, it's obvious. Duplicates of the Elite Guard? Is there anyone -else- you know who can become an exact clone of someone else that easily? You should be careful, she's a tricky one. Not just physically, but she could talk you into anything, if your guard isn't up. She tried to talk me into letting her wander around in my hab suite unsupervised."

Rewind's gaze points up at hot Rod again, and he nods. "Yes, thank you." Another point in Hot Rod's favor- a disposable such as himself doesn't often experience concern for his own welfare from others... certainly not from polished, fancily-painted racers. He looks over at Blurr again. "Really?"

He is still a little confused... he has no reason to believe Shiftlock is capable of something like that- but then again, he has no reason to believe Blurr is lying, either. And he does have a point. "Well.. are there any others like her? I seem to think that there are... or, uh, were..." He starts sifting through his own databases. "Oh. I guess there aren't many, if any at all, left now."

"Oh no!" Hot Rod grows less convincing every time he says that. He looks a little disillusioned, a little heart-broken that Blurr could say anarchist as anything but a compliment. "I'll keep it in mind," he promises.

"See? Exactly." Blurr nods to the information from Rewind. "She's the only one left in existence that we know of. There's no mistaking it, Hot Rod. She's a criminal. And she knows it, that's why she took off so quickly."

He gives Rod a slightly suspicious look, however. He's no detective, but the other mech doesn't exactly sound convinced. "Wait, you were with her the entire time! You--you -deliberately- distracted me!" he accuses.

Rewind blinks, suddenly getting nervous. He doesn't want to get caught up in this... he could get in trouble. Though... mech, his curiosity is piqued now, and he almost doesn't care. He nods to Blurr, then fumbles at the drink in his hands as he steps away and glances from Blurr to Hot Rod. "I... I should probably be on my way. My break is almost over."

"I thought she was some shoddy Knock Out clone! I mean -- didn't you hear that, with the trash and everything? Do I /look/ like a distraction?" Hot Rod waves at all of his everything, which includes sleek red lines, brilliant gold flames, and a probably-aerodynamic-but-certainly-flashy spoiler. So ... yes. He does look like a distraction. He gives Rewind a quick but harried smile. "Catch you later."

"Yes." Blurr answers. Yes he definitely looks like a distraction. He gives the mech an exasperated look. "And stop lying, because you're terrible at it. You kept trying to change the subject, and direct the conversation toward something else. Really, if you were trying to convince me that you're ignorant, you need to learn a little more subtlety."

He basically ignores Rewind, because Rewind is a Disposable. Well...if you were to ask him, of course Rewind is a person but it's hard when you were trained all your life to treat them as if they didn't exist, unless there was some use for them.

Rewind nods to Hot Rod, takes a big swig of his drink, and zips off!

"I'm not terrible at it!" Hot Rod says when what he /should/ be saying is 'I'm not lying'. So. Uh. ...moving on.

"Besides, I wasn't changing the subject: I really wanted to know about Feint! Don't you care something bad could've happened?" Having already said goodbye to the BFF friendship bracelets he was planning in his head, Hot Rod now seems determined to burn the string.

"Sure, whatever..." Blurr turns his optics upward momentarily, then looks back at him. "Yeah, maybe that was part of it. But it's still changing the subject. And why should I be any more concerned about Feint being on her own than I should be for anyone else? She's -not- an invalid, in fact, she has abilities that most people -don't- have."

"But there was an assault in the same area," Hot Rod says, shedding some of the heat in his tone to turn more earnest. "Look," he says, hands turned up and out as he confesses helpless ignorance, "I don't know her, I don't know what she can do, but low caste scout gets lost in Translucentia, then there's an assault? I don't know. I'd be worried if it were one of my friends, is all."

"Assault happens all the time." Blurr says dismissively. "She was the one who ran away from me, like I said. So even if I found her, I doubt she'd want to come back, anyway." He looks partially grieved by that, even if he's trying to hide it.

The noise that Hot Rod makes at that is not easy to define: it's one part exasperation to one part disgust, though at least the latter doesn't seem to be turned on Blurr. "Yeah, well, I'm from Nyon, so." He waves a hand. Rust narrows, etc. He knows about assaults. Theirs just don't see the investigatory /zeal/ of a Translucentia incident. "You sure fall in with some pretty unique femmes. How'd you even meet?" As has been covered, Hot Rod is not the best liar: he looks a little sly when he asks.

"I rescued her from a doctor with sinister intentions." Blurr tells him, but he definitely notices the sly look. An optic ridge goes up. "Why do you ask?" It felt good, to do something that seemed more important than entertainment, despite all the glamor that surrounded it. Which is something that has been plaguing the racer's thoughts of late.

"I heard a version that said you stole her," Hot Rod bluntly and unhesitatingly admits, "and I wanted to see what you'd say. Good answer." He goes back to picking out colors for their friendship bracelet somewhere in the back of his thoughts, and studies Blurr with somewhat relieved approval. "Sounded like the guy was a real--" He says things. They aren't nice things. They don't need to be repeated. They can be best summarized as: "--piece of work."

Blurr shakes his head, sighing. "I know." Of course Solvent thinks he stole her. "But sometimes things need to be stolen, so they aren't abused. He was treating her like property, what else could I do?"

He shrugs, and suddenly changes the subject. "Hot Rod, you don't trust Shiftlock do you? You need to not trust her. Because she is definitely not trustworthy. She tried to steal from me."

Hot Rod smiles, helpless to prevent himself from echoing Blurr's words back at him: "Sometimes things need to be stolen." He glances off to the side, smile skewing, then looks back. "Well -- maybe not from you, right? Probably should've picked a better target. Boosters, you said? Maybe she did need them, needed the Shanix. I'm not exactly saying I trust her, but she hasn't lied to me any more than you have. At least I don't have anything to steal."

"What do you mean, picked a better target? And yes she was, she was trying to steal from me. If she really needed it, she could have just asked." Funny thing that, since she actually -did- ask. Blurr just doesn't remember, good old boss at the IAA had made sure of that. "But no, she had to go and try to trick me instead." he folds his arms, looking indignant. "She might seem nice to you, but trust me she is far from being an honest and trustworthy person."

"You know, a target -- uh, never mind, actually," Hot Rod somewhat belatedly edits himself, rather than /explain/ what he thinks might make a mech or femme a good target for theft. Some subjects are better left untouched; some subjects should never be brought up in the first place. "She doesn't seem nice or honest or trustworthy so much as she seems kind of scared. And especially if what you said about that Senator is true, then I guess she has reason to be."

"No, tell me." Blurr insists. "What kind of a target?"

On Shiftlock, he isn't really convinced. "Scared, really? With how she went and beat the slag out of Ratbat? I don't know if I'd define that as scared. I think I'd define that as pretty bold, in fact. Aggressive, you know? And violent and unpredictable. What if she decides to attack -you- one cycle?"

Hot Rod affects a rather careless attitude as he meets Blurr's insistence with a casual, "Oh, I don't know. I guess maybe someone who wouldn't even notice if she stole from them. They had that much of whatever she was after. If she had to." Not that he'd condone such a thing.

Again, he can only shrug at Blurr's question. "I don't know. I don't really think she has much reason to. People get violent when they feel like they don't have a lot of options. When they're scared. You don't have to be bold, just desperate."

"Or just insane." Blurr adds on to that. "Somehow I doubt Ratbat was threatening her with a hammer over her head or something." He gives Hot Rod an interested look at the other options he mentions. "Scared of what? Desperate for what? Doesn't have a lot of options, for what? Was someone threatening her or someone she cares about? Beating up Ratbat, why? For what? Was it the only option? Or was she just trying to either get some kind of revenge or make an example out of him?"

The doors of Maccadam's whoosh open and a Cybertronian jet sporting a fresh coat of expensive white and gold chromed paint flies in extravagantly, making a show of protoforming before landing dramatically and gracefully onto a barstool next to Blurr. The ruler of Vos flashes a broad smile at all who would grace their optics with his famous faceplate and drapes an arm around Blurr in a deceitfully friendly fashion.

"Blurr, what are you doing here in this scrappy bar? I would have let you into that brand new place I just opened in Vos for free," the seeker chides the speedster.

"Yeah, or insane." Hot Rod laughs at that, but not necessarily as though he finds it funny. His expression suggests some skepticism on the subject of Ratbat and hammers, but he doesn't actually get to addressing it in the face of all of Blurr's questions. He holds his hands up with an easier laugh, saying, "Whoa, look, I don't know. But that's the thing, mech, who knows what her reasons were."

When Starscream enters in such frankly /dramatic and striking/ fashion to take a seat right nearby, Hot Rod shuts up with a nearly audible click of jealousy. He might be bright red with golden flames on his hood, but /that/ is an entrance that he can't beat. He studies Starscream from Blurr's other side with a striking lack of deference (or the good sense to pretend to it).

"Whatever they were, it doesn't matter because they -don't- justify what she did." Blurr says adamantly. "Either stealing from me, or beating up Ratbat." Especially stealing from him. Never mind that Ratbat was in critical condition.

And then, ugh. Starscream comes in. That guy just tried -way- too hard to look good. That stuff just came naturally to all the best mechs. Like Blurr, of course. He shrugs Starscream's arms off of himself. "Dunno, I just happened to be in the area, I guess."

Of course, Starscream likes to think that he isn't even trying, but that altogether is different story for a different day. "Blurr, never settle for less when you can have better," he says with a sigh, placing a hand on his helm.

Then he sees Hot Rod. How could he not? Hot Rod never goes unnoticed and no one can ever un-see him after they've seen him. He deadpans at the kid . Not for too long, though, the mech's paintjob is burning his optics. Literally. Those flames.. mech. Then he regains his composure. "I'm sorry," he mutters, shaking his helm. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Who are you, exactly?"

"Maybe she should've stolen from the Senator instead and -- well, no definitely skip the part where she'd beat you up," Hot Rod says. He continues to fail to summon much sympathy for poor, poor Ratbat, but he does a better job of pretending to something of the kind where Blurr is concerned. "Maybe just no beating."

Hot Rod narrows his eyes at Starscream, and that's before he's the recipient of that /look/. (Admit it, Starscream: you are totally jealous of these colors. He makes them look /amazing/. Just think how great Starscream could be in red!) "Name's Hot Rod." He throws his name down like a challenge. It is a name attached to no one and nothing, belong to an approximate nobody. /With a great paintjob/.

"Pff, how about she didn't have to do -any- of it, and just left everyone well enough alone, like a good upstanding and law-abiding citizen?" Blurr scoffs. "Like the rest of us normal people. Anyway, point being, stay the slag away from her, and if you do see her, report it to the police, because she doesn't belong anywhere but in -jail-."

He sighs at Starscream. Would this guy just...leave him alone? "And who are you, my advisor? I'll do whatever I want to, WHENever I want to."

The door opens, and a small white figure arrives on six long slender legs. She moves effortlessly towards the bar, her abdomen unfolding into graceful legs, allowing her to take a seat at an empty position at the bar. The red pattern on her upper arm identifies her as a medic. Her poise and demeanor are calm and reserved.

"Primus Blurr, touchy. I simply was making a polite suggestion." He waves a hand dismissively at the the speedster. "I'm trying to be generous here, and what do I get in return? An abrasive remark! But don't worry, I'll be an upstanding citizen and forgive you." He grins pretentiously.

Starscream receives the look Hot Rod is giving him and casually looks away in an aloof manner, one that oozed of 'Oh I know, you want to be me. And my expensive gold chromed paint? You want it, I know you do.' Good Primus, this might be about to turn into the male robot version of Mean Girls. "....Hot Rod?" he says, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. "And where are you from, uh.. Hot Rod? Does everyone from there like to get.. flashy paint jobs?" As if he's one to talk.

Starscream also politely pulls out the chair for Cogwheel, winking and nodding at as she sits down.

Hot Rod's features tighten with the effort he goes to not to react when Blurr suggests they all just be good, upstanding, law-abiding citizens. "I hear you," he says, which is a factually accurate acknowledgement of Blurr's words that sure /sounds/ like agreement. (It isn't.) But he hears him! Audials working and everything.

Turning away rather than meet Blurr's gaze and risk ruining that hard-won blank look, Hot Rod glances at Cogwheel. Despite the clicker-clack of her many limbs, there's no more than a brief, friendly acknowledgment should their gazes meet. At least they know where the medic is in case any dies of ego poisoning.

"Nyon," Hot Rod throws down like another challenge, which is certainly /not/ flashy paint job central. "Something wrong with that?"

"Oh, thank you very much, Governor," Cogwheel replies appreciatively to Starscream. Or is it Emirate? Depends on the universe. Nevertheless, she genuflects to Starscream, who is a rank just slightly above her own. "The Deltaarn Medical Facility appreciates the generous support Vos has given us in the last twenty decacycles. I'm certain we have both you and Senator Contrail to thank for it." She awaits a menu from the bartender.

He hears Blurr? What was that supposed to mean, agreement. Blurr just shrugs. Whether Hot Rod listens to him and does the smart thing isn't really his business.

He smirks at Starscream's bombastic displays of so-called 'kindness'. Pff, he's such a show-off (as if Blurr himself isn't). "Oh yeah? Flashier than -yours-?" He remarks rather derisively. "That might be a legitimate topic of debate."

"I never implied there was anything wrong with being from Nyon," Starscream remarks, consciously avoiding mentioning his paint job again. "Nyon is a beautiful city. In fact, I just sponsored the opening of two Cybertronian Grande Hotels there. I know, it's hard to not be presumptuous, isn't it? Well, we all fail sometimes, don't we?" He sighs dramatically.

Starscream flashes her a coy smile. "You're very welcome. And of course, it is my duty and pleasure to support such noble causes. Don't hesitate to ask for anything from me, whether it be financial, concerning resources, or just a simple favor."

"Classy, not flashy," Starscream corrects Blurr, waving a hand at him. "Please. I wouldn't be caught dead looking like a male entertainer for a seedy night club."

Hot Rod's hackles settle somewhat when Starscream compliments Nyon: his armor smoothes, his expression eases. He no longer looks quite so ready to try to pick a (foolish, foolish) fight. "Yeah, it's a great place."

Then there's crack about his paint job. Hot Rod doesn't huff to quite the same degree -- after all, with a look like his, in the circles he moves, he's probably heard it before. He's probably heard it /all/ before. "Yeah? You spend a lot of time looking? Good way to stay on top of fashions, I guess."

Cogwheel shakes her head and chuckles a little at the tit-for-tat going on. She orders a simple drink, and pauses to enjoy it after a long day of work.

"Flashy, classy, whatever. It's all the same when it comes to -you-." Blurr jabs. He really doesn't like Starscream, does he? "Yes, yes, you just opened these amazing hotels...how exciting." he says wryly. "Just like the bar you opened, too."

Come on Hot Rod. You know you want to. Just punch him in his pretty boy face. Because that would be incredibly amusing.

Starscream flags the bartender down. "Another drink for the lady, please, make it whatever she likes. I'll pick up the tab," he says, smiling at Cogwheel.

"Come on, Blurr, you were never one to settle for anything short of those adjectives either? Don't deny it. You live for the applause." He gives Blurr a slightly amused look.

"Of course not." Because, Hot Rod my dear, he /is/ the current trend. At least according to himself. "I spend as much time on it as necessary, so as to not look like a tackless middle caste with no common sense whatsoever." He says airily.

"I appreciate the offer, Governor Starscream, but the money of Vos is better spent on its people than myself," Cogwheel gently deflects. "Besides, I'm a big femme. I can buy my own drinks. I'm somewhat particular about their composition." Sorry Screamer, the doctor is not accepting bribes or personal checks.

The classism gets under Hot Rod's hood in a way the comments about his paint don't, but he still -- somehow! -- manages to find the self-control to keep his hands to himself. His fingers, however, curl as they drop to his sides. He gives Cogwheel a look of greater curiosity around Blurr, around Starscream as she deflects. His slight, satisfied smile might not be /entirely/ due to the fact that she WHOA BURNED Starscream. Glancing back at Blurr, he says, "I better get going. You know, working class hours," he not-at-all-but-really-very aggressively postures like one out-classed and out-casted. "Good luck out there. I'll be cheering!" He angles off to make a perfectly dignified exit, but not being able to turn into /jet/ is really cramping his style now that he's seen Starscream's entrance. Ugh.

Living for the applause. If this had been several megacycles ago, maybe that would've surely been the case. But now he's not so sure. Blurr shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I guess." But lately, he'd been thinking differently.

The racer also gets a brief, satisfied smirk when Cogwheel turns down Starscream's offer. "See ya." he says, as Hot Rod leaves.

Starscream smiles and plays off Cogwheel's rejection coolly. "How incredibly kind of you! What an unselfish individual. You have my sincere admiration," Starscream says smoothly. "I suppose I could let being so generous slide this one time," the ruler of Vos replies.

He looks relieved when Hot Rod leaves. "Seriously, Blurr. I don't know who that Hot Rod guy is, but if you want to live for the applause, I suggest you ditch him, like, immediately."

"That's the thing," Blurr mutters. "Did I say I wanted to? I'm not so sure I do any more..." He folds his arms, and looks away, staring at the far wall. This...is unusual behavior for him.

"Can't just be a racer all my life, can I? Unless I plan on having an extremely -short- one. They'd get tired of me, eventually."

"You can always go to a functionist center for reassessment," Cogwell suggests, listening in.

Starscream almost chokes on his drink. "The hell, Blurr?! You are a born and bred racer. The one skill set you have that's above and beyond everyone else's. It has made you slagging famous and everyone loves you because of it. And you mean to say that you're not sure you want to anymore?? That's like saying you don't know what your purpose in life is anymore."

That's -like- saying he doesn't know what his purpose in life is? Actually perhaps that -is- what he's saying. Blurr just continues to stare dejectedly at the wall. "I know I am, and it's great and all, but really what am I? Just glorified entertainment. Talented entertainment but entertainment nonetheless. There has to be something else out there I'd be good at, something more -meaningful.-"

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. "Never mind, Starscream you'd never understand."

Cogwell is listening. Oh, how she's listening.

"I felt the same way, Mister Blurr," she says softly. "Perhaps... you should have a talk with the captain of the Rodion Police Department. I hear they're looking for people who are willing to make a difference in this world. A -real- difference."

Bastion enters the bar quietly.. or at least as quietly as someone her size can and heads almost immediately towards the bar, her gaze moving over the other occupants as she does then orders a drink quietly before heading towards a empty table.

Starscream sighs and shakes his helm. "No, Blurr. I do. I know how that feels. I wasn't always .. what I am now. I used to be a scientist. And I thought that doing research and inventing cool gadgets that could help society was really going to go somewhere and help people. But after studying it extensively and working a research job for years--I'd still gotten nowhere. I was churning out data that the public wasn't seeing and would never see. My research wasn't coming to any fruition whatsoever. It took quitting and following something differently entirely to realize that I wasn't in the field I should have been in." Is he being genuine? It would certainly seem like it, but when is Starscream sincere. Pretty much never.

He smiles and nods at Cogwheel. "You know, she's right. I mean, I'm sure the military could use a guy like you, you're extremely agile and quick witted."

Blurr shrugs at Starscream's little anecdote. "That isn't exactly my situation, but whatever." Because he's not a researcher whose work isn't going anywhere. His career is certainly a smashing success. It's just that lately...

It just felt so meaningless.

"Rodion?" Blurr peers over at Cogwheel. She's been listening to the conversation, hasn't she. "Maybe." Sadly enough, the racer isn't as free as he thinks he is to leave and do whatever he pleases.

"Maybe not exactly, but I know how you feel. I was an acclaimed scientist, successful by research standards. But reality and what I wanted didn't align. I felt burnt out. Which is probably how you feel. But if you don't want to be a racer anymore, be my guest. I'm sure mechs like Prowl could use a mech with your abilities."

Starscream glances around casually, his optics landing briefly on Bastion, before he looks over at Blurr again. "Any particular reason why you suddenly don't want to race anymore?"

Cogwheel has finished her drink, and sets it aside, leaving her payment. She stands from her seat and walks towards Blurr, who is at least a third taller than she is. "Nothing you do will satisfy you, until you have searched out your spark's desire. Purpose does not come from assignment, or even from a frame. Purpose comes from -within-," she says with the gentle wisdom that comes from age and experience. "Seek it out, young mech, and when you find it, nothing will be able to take it from you."

Bastion just sips her drink quietly, as she stays out of the way of others. She catches some of the conversation, but she isn't here to listen to others.. not this time anyways.

Blurr sighs, some frusration showing. "I didn't say I don't want to race any more, I love racingit'sjustIjust..." He shakes his head. "I don't know, all right?" He listens to Cogwheel, but most of it kind of goes over his head. Within? Within where?

"I'll figure it out, just don't worry about me."

Starscream smiles. "Hey Blurr, take it easy." He arches a brow at Cogwheel. "...yeah. Look, what Cogwheel is saying is that no one else can decide what you want to do besides you, Blurr. If you want to know more about what it means to join the police force or military, come over to my place, I'll show you the works and let you look at the job description for someone who works as an undercover agent or for special operations, because that's what you would probably be assigned to. That is, if you're interested."

"..." Blurr doesn't really like the idea of going to Starscream's place, but he supposes he isn't completely disinterested in the subject. "Oh, fine, I guess so." Maybe the mech would know more about it than he does. "You have my hailing frequency don't you? Just let me know when your schedule is open or whatever."

He slides off of the bar seat and turns to leave, following Cogwheel out the door.

"Yeah.. I'll let you know later today. See you around, kid." Starscream smirks, watching Blurr leave.