[Open] Where Everybody Knows Your Name

[twogirlsonekup]

WHO: Kup. Anyone who wants to.
WHERE: The bar.
WHEN: Now.
WHAT: Drinking.
WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption and crotchety-ness.


When a bot gets as old as Kup, (and mind you he knows there are a small handful that are older but he rarely runs across them), they've already either gone completely mad or learned to just go with whatever the multiverse throws at them. Kup has done both, incidentally, but the "going with the flow" instinct is the first one that kicks in here. After politely listening to what the acolyte had to say (hey, sometimes good storytellers can be good listeners too!), Kup asked only one question and then went on his way.

The bar. What a wonderful sight. This place was familiar and yet alien, but no bar was a stranger to Kup. He didn't make a habit of spending copious amounts of time at them (he has better things to do, thank you), but a drink in a new place always helped ease a transition. All of the most interesting beings could be met there, and it was always a hub of information.

So to the bar he went, thanks to the directions of the kind acolyte. He knew about the network and stuff and maybe he was supposed to make a call-out or something but really, what kind of a stupid waste of time was that? Letting everyone know your location. What a rookie mistake. No, the bar was the place. Drink with who you like, brawl with who you don't.

Anyone who entered said bar could find Kup sitting by himself at the far left side where he could see everyone and everyone could see him. No need to leave himself exposed.

Comments

[young_upstart]

     It wasn't difficult to spot the younger Autobot once he entered the place; so long as he was even slightly in one's peripheral vision, his loud coloring was bound to draw any attention.

     Hot Rod came by the bar now and then if only because it was something to do in a place that was incredibly lacking, and whenever there were things to do, somehow it seemed he always missed the action. It was more than a little frustrating and ever always annoying.

     As much as the place was a public location to gather at, he never saw very many at the same time, only vaguely remembering when there had been more than ten bodies about. He glanced around almost disappointed, if only for the fact that he'd expected nothing more. He did have to pull a double-take at the lone bot at the end of the bar though.

     "No way."

[rungout]

His intention had been to come and get a drink to help clear his head and maybe see if Dead End was around. He'd been quite busy, as of late, with appointments and the like and he really hadn't just stopped in awhile.

Even with the recent torture he'd been through; working just helped him keep his mind off things.

The little calico dragon that Barricade had made for him curled around his shoulders, Rung scratched the creature under the chin with a small smile as he slipped into the hub, distracted by the creature--so much so--that he didn't notice the mech seated at the bar.

At least not until he sat down and looked around for Dead End.

When his gaze landed on Kup the therapist froze, staring at him like he was..well..seeing a ghost. His little companion chirped curiously and nudged at Rung's head but he didn't reaction, too caught up in surprise--in shock--to really function much at all.

[gunfondlingbattlestat]

His life has been reduced to, essentially, three things: hunting for Tarn, tinkering in his lab, and hiding in the bar. There's a certain amount of truth and oblivion to be found at the bottom of a cube, although, with their resources so tight, it's not one he allows himself to indulge in that often. And Rung doesn't like it when he mews himself up in his lab for too many hours/days at a stretch. And there's only so much hunting for Tarn that he can get away with before someone forces him to go... somewhere else.

Three is a good number. It allows him to cycle from one to the other to the other without having too much free time forced on him. Because when he has free time, then all he does is think.

About how he's screwed up everything. How he's been left behind. Again. How he deserves it. Kup and Drift and Prowl and everything just pecking away at what shreds of himself are left.

So he goes to his lab and works on a dozen different ways to neutralize Tarn. And then he goes out with his rifle and tries to find Tarn to simply end him. And then he comes here to fuel up, maybe overfuel once in a while, so that he'll either be ready to take Tarn down...

Or forget why he's so dedicated to eliminating Tarn.

It's basically torture. Self-torture. If Tarn succeeds in killing or hurting Drift, then Drift won't be around (once he's back from... from that) for Perceptor to see every day and mourn the loss of him. So, really, everything boils down to Drift.

And that's the thought that is circling his processor like a sharkticon on the hunt as he pushes open the door to the bar and trudges in. Today might be a day that he allows himself to indulge just a bit more than usual.

He's halfway across the open floor, tossing a brusque nod toward the other occupant, when the faded green paint actually registers.

"...kup?"

He's standing, stock still in the middle of the bar, openly staring... frozen to the spot.