re_alignment_logs

Entry tags:

[OPEN]

WHO: OPEN
WHERE: The bar.
WHEN All day.
WHAT: Meet the newest bartender the bar has to offer... Or complain that a vampire is working somewhere so public to other customers.
WARNINGS: None? Dead End?

He'd only been working at the bar for a month and it was already stressful. During that time Rung had been killed and come back, and there were times where he just didn't want to be mixing drinks, he wanted to be keeping an optic on the therapist - just in case. Then there were the times when he was working with Blurr. The one who had hired him and knew nothing about mixing drinks. It was frustrating and made him incredibly nervous considering the Autobot's other job was that of a cop.

How long until the universe decided to torment him again? Probably wouldn't be long really. given his luck.

Thankfully this day he was working by himself, or at least for the time being. He had time to brood inbetween orders and when things were slow, and just worry about all the what ifs and could happens. Able to just lean back behind the bar and prod at an empty cube. Anyone wants a drink and they'll call him, he's sure.

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Barricade recalls Dead End's admission over the network, and to be truthful, he was neither crazy nor bold enough to admit his own foibles publicly. He can appreciate that. And hasn't been overly concerned for life and limb in a long while. Besides, he doubts that Dead End could take him, power core-eating or no.

He could hardly whine about that anyway; he remembers rumors of his Megatron eating the sparks of his foes and was never certain if it was just a rumor or not.

"Figured; I recognized you from the Link. Don't think we've met yet. Designation's Barricade." He extends a hand for a shake.

Pleasantries are just what he does. Even with people that eat other people.

It's mechs like Barricade that are the prime targets for draining during recharge - not that he'd even thought about it. He had his substitute that no one knew about, and he had Rung. Someone who he really needed to get around to informing about the substitute and not. Eating him. But that was something to think about for another day.

"I, uh... Hi," he responds back, wings drooping a little and looking rather sheepish.

Optics dart to the extending hand, but the Decepticon does nothing. It's not that he doesn't know what to do, but he just doesn't trust anyone. People don't act so nice to him - even in this job. He eats people, that doesn't get you handshakes unless someone is trying to kill him.

So staring awkwardly is a go.

Barricade is a bit of a light sleeper when he doesn't happen to have someone else around, which he hasn't in quite a while. Even if Deads was considering it, he'd be a slightly hazardous choice.

"You gonna leave me hangin'?" he inquires, smile not faltering for a second.

It's not his job to tell people off for their habits, so long as those habits aren't mucking in other Cybertronian's processors. Even if they might tell him off for his habit of torturing people... no, they would. They definitely would.

"I don't..." he starts, voice a tad quiet. On one servo, he doesn't want to insult a customer, that's always grounds for trouble... But on the other he doesn't trust said customer not to try and kill him.

After a brief moment of awkward shuffling the Stunticon speaks again, "I don't really do... that."

That was polite enough right? He wasn't insulting a customer - maybe - and he'd survived a few seconds longer. Who knew how much longer he'd survive for, but at least he'd extended it by a few seconds. And his paintjob was still in top condition, so if he was going to die here at least he'd leave a nice corpse.

"Ah. I see." Sort of, anyway. Maybe. He retracts his hand. "No worries, I get it."

Trust issues and all that. He understands. He's had that problem more than a few times himself, though usually in... tenser circumstances. Still, he's more than willing to let it go with no hard feelings.

"So, what d'you got around here anyway?" He is here after a drink, after all.

The other mech is talking and he's not dead. He's not dead. The most important part here. A good start... For now.

"We've got... pretty much everything," he starts, turning his head slightly to look at what exactly they've got. Energon wasn't really in low supply so there was plenty to choose from, and plenty more he could mix.

"Whatever you want we probably have... If it's, uh, universe specific I could try and make it." Not that he can make any guarantees, but he'd try to make exactly what was wanted, even if he'd never heard of it.

Barricade isn't in the habit of murdering people for not shaking his hand. Or existing. That would just be rude of him.

"Figured. Pretty nice, not having t'ration energon. Mm, but there ain't nothing special about what comes outta my universe, just a lot of impurities in it." Especially when they had to manufacture it all themselves from what they found on Earth.

"I'll take midgrade; we'll keep it simple this go-round."

Good of this bot not to murder him on the spot, but it's really something he expects from everyone. Autobot or Decepticon, everyone always wants him dead.

"Yeah... Been a long time since I've seen this much Energon in one place." Heck there were more grades than he was sure they'd had back home.

Dead End simply nods at Barricade's order and turns get him his cube, silently handing it over.

That must be absolutely exhausting, assuming that everyone in the universe wants you dead. How nervous does that make you, really.

"Been a long time since I've seen this many grades all at once. We ended up with just two back home and it was miserable." If they were lucky there were two. If they were unlucky you limited how much transforming and fighting you did to prevent stasis lock-up.

Barricade flashes a smile, inclining his head as he takes the cube. "Thank you kindly."

That's what's all the brooding time is for really.

"Yeah," he nods in agreement. "It's definitely been a long time since there's been this much energon around." Shame that he couldn't live off of it, it would be easier, but he's grown accustomed to power cores.

The bartender's wings flick a bit nervously as Barricade thanks him, not entirely used to being thanked for anything. Not anymore at least.

"Right... Uh, is that all?"

That much brooding is unhealthy.

"Guess that's one of the good points of Slightly Newer Cybertron, huh? Though you don't have t'worry much about energon, from what I remember." He says it casually, like he's discussing the weather. Or golf.

"That should do it, yeah."

He's been doing it for years, what more damage can it cause.

"I..." His wings drop almost instantly at that. Not a topic he really feels comfortable talking about to people... Even if he had broadcasted it to the entire population. The calm attitude Barricade has isn't exactly reassuring either.

"No... Just about being shot."

Lots. Of some kind.

"Really. How rude. Who around here has been doing that to you?" Considering that people shooting at each other is kind of one of the things that they've been trying to avoid and all.

So more of the universe hating on him. Seems normal.

"Not... not too many. But it's happened a few times." And all he ever did was try or think about eating someone...

Well actually he got some threats too because of his general creeping about.

"Autobots don't really... Like me."

And that Vehicon that had been around for a while before whatever happened to him. It was a shame really. He would have been nice to eat - if he hadn't pointed a gun at his head.

"I'm used to it though," he attempts to lighten the mood.

To be fair, the universe seems to hate everyone at regular intervals. It's pretty normal.

"Well, that's Autobots for you. They get really touchy about things, all in all."

Especially when those things are less than savory. Whether it was eating someone or taking parts from corpses to be used later.

"Ah, maybe someday folks'll cool their jets about it, huh? It's not like you've been acting like others we've had around here."

From what he knows. Positives!

It seems to pick on him a lot, or that's what he's gotten from everything.

"Yeah, they do... Decepticons generally aren't much better." Even if he is one.

Dead End shakes his head, doing his best to perk his wings back up despite the fact that he'd like to go and brood for a while.

"I don't think so," he sighs. Even if he wasn't some big bad or someone that was going around trying to murder everyone, he wouldn't be spared any hate. Things would be the exact same as they were back home.

Mostly.

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