Warpath:

:: 'Crusher, you there? ::

Bonecrusher:

:: GENERALLY, YEAH, I AM.  Y'NEED ENERGON, TEAKETTLE? ::

Warpath:

:: Good guess. Suppose I'm predictable like that. Got a new quarters set up for you to bring it to. ::

Bonecrusher:

:: GIMME COORDINATES, THEN.  I ONLY GOT HALFA Y'SLAGGERS MEMORIZED, THANKS FER MESSIN' IT UP. ::

Warpath:

:: Next time I have a personal crisis, I'll try to give you better advance notice. :: *My, my, the sarcasm party's already started!*

Bonecrusher:

:: THANKS.  I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.  AFTER ALL, I GOT MY OWN PROBLEMS DOWN HERE - CAN'T BE PAYIN' ATTENTION TO ALL OF YA UP THERE ALL  THE TIME. ::

Warpath:

:: Oh good, you've got problems too! Come on down so we can have a nice pity party. I'll make the tea and put out doilies for ya. ::

Bonecrusher:

:: DOILIES.  I DIDN'T TAKE Y'FER TH' REFINED TYPE!  AMAZIN'.  FEELS LIKE 'M REALLY GETTIN' T'KNOW YA. ::

Warpath:

:: Course I'm refined. That's th' reason I'm so pissed all the time, I'm the only damn mech on base with a taste for the finer things. ::

Bonecrusher:

:: 'M SURE THAT'S TH' EXACT REASON WHY, WITHOUT ANY UNDERLYIN' PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEMS WHATSOEVER. ::  *and bang-bang-bangs on Warpath's door!*

Warpath:

It's OPEN, slaggit, it's not like there's anyone droppin' by worth KEEPIN' OUT. *sits perched on a stack of his ammo crates, drained and struggling to keep up the boisterous tone*

Bonecrusher:

*kicks the door open with an armload of energon in hand - plenty of it, and all of it near-medical grade, with... a slight difference in flavor.  he takes one look at Warpath and kicks the door shut behind him with a grumble*  ALRIGHT.  HOW DRUNK ARE YA, AN' HOW DRUNK D'YA WANNA BE?

Warpath:

My plan is to go from zero to AWESOME. Pitch me some cubes so I can get t'WORK on that.

Bonecrusher:

*does him one better, going over and dropping the pile next to the crates, pulling one from a compartment for himself and taking a glug*  SO.   WHAT HAPPENED, MORON?

Warpath:

Try me again in ten minutes. *leans down, snatches one up, and guzzles it down with a speed that's impressive on a "physical possibility" level. He's already got the second one in hand to start with once it's downed, chugging just as fast*

Bonecrusher:

*watches impassively, working on his own cube nice and easily - after all, he's been drinking most of the afternoon, so a pleasant buzz is something he's okay to deal with for now*

Warpath:

*keeps up the pace, slugging them down and knocking them aside, until the seventh one is burning in his gullet. He drops the empty cube and leans back against the pile with a smile of relief* This is quality stuff.

Bonecrusher:

*smirks and tosses back the last of his cube, reaching in to grab a new one*  I TRY.  NOW, WHAT HAPPENED, MORON?  *deadpan, glugging back some of the cube*

Warpath:

Y'know, callin' me a moron ain't no way to start a spark-to-spark, owlface... *smirks wide as he paws at his eighth, feeling both tipsy and rejuvenated* Yer supposed to be all CONSIDERATE.

Bonecrusher:

WOULD Y'RATHER ME BE CONSIDERATE, OR WOULD Y'RATHER ME NOT BE BIASED IN MY GENERAL OPINION, OF WHICH, NO MATTER YER RESPONSE, YOU WILL BE GETTIN'?

Warpath:

I'd rather y'not make me spit out the obvious. What HAPPENED's that I *wince* broke it off. *GLUGLUGLUG*

Bonecrusher:

MM.  *takes a gulp and shifts on his feet*  WHY?

Warpath:

...this is where you lead in with all the 'Crusherisms, tryin' to correct me with a good friendly dose of common sense, right? I did it because I'm poison for him. He doesn't need a mech like me.

Bonecrusher:

WHAT KINDA MECH ARE YA, EXACTLY?  AN' NAH, AT TH' MOMENT, 'M JUS' TRYIN' T'FIGURE OUT TH' DETAILS.  LET'S WAIT UNTIL 'M A BIT MORE'N BUZZED T'START PRETENDIN' T'DOLE OUT HELPFUL ADVICE.  *glug*

Warpath:

The kind of mech that breaks another into scrap and likes doin' the job proper. An' doesn' think some slaggin' CEASE-FIRE is an excuse to stop doin' it.

Bonecrusher:

HUH.  *idly takes another sip*  AN' HE AGREED WITH YA?

Warpath:

No. *bye-bye eighth, hello ninth!* But he couldn' argue with it.

Bonecrusher:

SO, WHAT.  *finishes that cube, feeling a little laggy while watching the other take down his heavy-duty energon so easily, and grabs a new one*  Y'DECIDED THAT Y'KNEW WHAT WAS BEST FER HIM?

Warpath:

Best for both of us, 'Crusher. *gives 'Crusher his best baleful stare* 'S'not like it's jus' bad luck that we were goin' crazier and crazier hurtin' each other.

Bonecrusher:

MAYBE YER JUS' BOTH HORRIBLY, HORRIBLY STUPID.  *glug*  PROB'LY FER TH' BEST, THOUGH.

Warpath:

'xactly. *slurps at his cube and tries to force a smile* He'll find someone. Prol'ly get comforted by Hound, be happier for it.

Bonecrusher:

*shakes his head*  YER A MORON.

Warpath:

Yeah. 'Cause I fell in love with a mech who can't fuckin' stand what I've got stickin' outta me. *raps his drink against his cannon for emphasis, then goes back to draining it*

Bonecrusher:

....*frowns a bit at that, then shrugs and takes a swig*  MAYBE HE'S TH' MORON THEN.  YER BOTH MORONS.  BUT THA' CANNON OF YERS IS KINDA OBVIOUS... I THOUGHT HE'D'VE FIGURED OUT WHAT IT WAS PRETTY QUICKLY.  *pauses for a minute, finishing off his cube and grabbing yet another*  WAS THIS ALL 'COS OF WHAT HAPPENED WITH YOU AN' PROWL?

Warpath:

No. Not at all. That jus'... set it off. Latest barrage of pain comin' in. Bango. *points his finger at 'Crusher like it was a pistol and pulls it back as if recoiling from a shot as he says it*

Bonecrusher:

....AN' YER OKAY WITH ALL THIS.  *deadpan*

Warpath:

...

Warpath:

Hurts worse'n anything. Anything. *gulp*

Bonecrusher:

SO.  Y'BROKE IT UP WITH TH' GAS GUZZLER T'KEEP IT FROM BECOMIN' TOO PAINFUL, AN' IT HURTS.  AN' HE'S... DANCIN' ON SUNSHINE, HUH?  IZZAT YER ASSUMPTION?  HE'S ALL GLAD YOU TWO HAVE SPLIT UP?

Warpath:

Yeah, yeah, I GET it, okay? It's dumb to hurt someone to stop 'em from hurtin'? 'cept you're leavin' out the part where I get so far gone one night that I attack him.

Bonecrusher:

*lightly*  Y'ATTACKED HIM, THEN?

Warpath:

...had my cannon good an' ready, once. Our first fight.

Bonecrusher:

AN' WHAT'D YA DO?

Warpath:

Forced myself to walk away before I gave in.

Bonecrusher:

....*quietly finishes his drink, taking his time with it* ....BETTER'N MOSTA US, TEAKETTLE.  Y'ACTUALLY WALKED AWAY, INSTEADA JUS' ALL OUT TAKIN' HIM DOWN.  YER SELLIN' YERSELF A BIT SHORT, ACTIN' LIKE YER ONLY GOOD AT BEIN' A VIOLENT IDIOT.

Warpath:

Bein' good enough not to kill him one time ain't exactly a consolation, 'Crusher. *slurp* I'm either only good at bein' a violent idiot, or I'm such a vicious aft I kicked 'Breaker to the curb for no good reason. Slag. Sounds 'bout the same to me. *finishes the drink and stares into the empty cube instead of at 'Crusher*

Bonecrusher:

FER CRYIN' OUT LOUD, A DECEPTICON GIVES YA TH' CON EQUIVILENT OF A COMPLIMENT AN' Y'JUS' EMO  OVER IT?  *is looking at the 'bot, slightly incredulous over the whole thing, before grabbing another drink and starting on it*  TH' FACT THAT YER WILLIN' T'WALK AWAY, RATHER THAN HURT HIM MEANS A LOT MORE'N Y'THINK IT DOES.  D'YA REALIZE HOW HARD --.... *snorts*  YER A MORON.

Warpath:

...Primus, 'Crusher, I can't care enough to insult you 'bout it right now, but do you know how DUMB that sounds? *throws the drink hard enough to the side to smash it against the wall, then stares at Bonecrusher with a strange, unreadable expression* 'Con compliments don't exactly have the best exchange rate.

Bonecrusher:

CONSIDERIN' HOW FEW YER EVER GONNA HEAR?  I THINK THEY'RE PRETTY DAMNED GOOD, WHEN Y'THINK ABOUT IT.  *glugging down his drink easily, keeping his optics on the other*  ESPECIALLY CONSIDERIN' TH' FACT THAT I HATE EVERYTHIN'.

Warpath:

...hnnh. That almost made sense. *picks up a fresh cube, but he just leans back and cradles it, the weird face being replaced by bemusement*

Bonecrusher:

YEAH, 'S KINDA WEIRD, HUH.  AN' IN EITHER  CASE, YER DODGIN' AROUND TH' REASON  FER TH' COMPLIMENT.  Y'KEEP ACTIN' LIKE YER SOME KINDA WARMONGERIN' AFTHEAD WHO'S ONLY JOY IS TEARIN' 'CONS APART, BUT 'M NOT REALLY SEEIN' THAT AT TH' MOMENT.  *tips his cube at Warpath before downing the rest*  AFTER ALL, YER DRINKIN' A 'CON'S ENERGON.  AN' YER PERFECTLY SOCIABLE WITH ME, NO BEATIN' UP GOIN' ON HERE - AN' WE'RE HITTIN' ALL SORTS OF PERSONAL ISSUES TONIGHT, TOO!

Warpath:

Nobody's one thing all the time, man. I was happy interfacin' with 'Breaker. But y'can't do it all the time. When I'm done drinkin', I'll prol'ly start pickin' some stupid fight, chase down Astrotrain and lay into him... slag, I only feel so CALM right now 'cause I know at least 'Breaker won't give me that LOOK like he's about to die just 'cause I tussled.

Bonecrusher:

.....SLAG, WARPATH, YER A FRAGGIN' MESS.  *shakes his head*  Y'ALREADY KNOW THAT, 'ER WHATEVER, BUT 'M SERIOUS.   *crosses his arms, feeling well over buzzed now and content to stay at this general level*  YER MISERABLE BOTH WAYS IN THIS EQUATION, AREN'T YOU?

Warpath:

*Now that his body is actually getting to PROCESSING all the energon he's sent it, his level of intoxication is rapidly increasing, but he's still sporting a mocking grin as he considers his position* ...well, yeh. That's the point, 'n' all. Never had this problem when I just had to follow orders and lob rounds at other mechs.

Bonecrusher:

WELL SLAGGIT, Y'MORON, IF YER MISERABLE IN BOTH SIDES, WHY DIDN'T Y'TAKE TH' SIDE THAT INVOLVED INTERFACIN' AN' WHAT I ASSUME WAS GOOD COMPANY?  *snorts*

Warpath:

*chews that one over, shifting his weight a bit as he thinks* ...I feel stable again, 'Crusher. Got my priorities clear again. Got some booze to keep things entertainin'. I'm not meltin' down 'bout whether I sound too CALLOUS 'bout some slageater like Slingshot tearin' off somewhere.

Warpath:

Take a dull ache over Russian Roulette, any day.

Bonecrusher:

IF YER BETTER OFF WITHOUT HIM, THEN YER BETTER OFF.  'M NOT TRYIN' T'CHANGE YER MIND OR NOTHIN' - 'M JUST MAKIN' SURE YER NOT GONNA BE AN EMO FRAGGER FER TH' REST OF MY EXISTANCE.

Warpath:

Frag, no. You kiddin'? Give me a day or two get up to scratch an I'll be partyin' up a storm. An' I'll damn well MEAN it.

Warpath:

An' hey, if Jazz cuts off Prowl like he kinda said? HA. Take some of this energon to him and have a 'bot to 'bot comfort session. *snickers and starts drinking again*

Bonecrusher:

*rolls his optics*  YEAH, 'COS DOIN' TH' WHOLE "YER HOT, I MESSED AROUND WITH YOU WHILE ATTACHED, 'M NOT ATTACHED NOW, LET'S FUCK" THING WORKS WONDERS.  BUT YEAH, IF YER NOT GONNA BE EMO, THEN I GUESS I AIN'T GOT ANY REASON T'TRY AN' PUT THINGS IN A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE FER YA.

Warpath:

What, you speakin' from some 'sperience, hooter? Yer the one who suggested I bang the hell out of him so long as I was doin' it in the first place. *sssssiiiiip* Just bullshittin', anyway. Think this is emo, stay the FUCK away from his sorry aft.

Bonecrusher:

'S NOT LIKE I TALK T'HIM, IN EITHER CASE.  AN' YEAH, I KINDA AM.  I TRY T'USE COMMON SENSE IF I CAN.  *sighs; the fucker is drinking more than him and he doesn't like it one bit, so he grabs for another cube and starts working on it*  AS MUCH COMMON SENSE AS A PSYCHOTIC DECEPTICON CAN HAVE.

Warpath:

SHOULD talk t'mechs like him! We've got us a MENAGERIE of hung-up fraggers in the 'bot ranks, and you playin' psychotherapist, they'd all perk up right quick to get you the hell outta their quart... psy... PSYCHO-therapHAHAHAHAHAHAH! *chokes down more energon through the laughter*

Bonecrusher:

*snorts, gulping down more of his drink*  ....THOUGH 'M TRYIN' T'DECIDE WHICH ONE OF US IS CRAZIER HERE.  AN' 'S NOT LIKE I GO OUTTA MY WAY T'PLAY THERAPIST FER YOU SLAGGERS.

Warpath:

But here y'are! *and his expression becomes smugly knowing as he settles down, still giggling a bit* An' you're good at it! 'Cause I wanna be all CAUSTIC with you, so I hafta defend myself! An' I can't just solve it by beatin' at yer face, 'cause you can beat back!

Bonecrusher:

WELL, Y'COULD TRY.  BUT I DOUBT Y'D DO MUCH DAMAGE, AN' SIDES, I CAN'T FEEL MUCH THROUGH TH' ARMOR IF 'M NOT FOCUSIN' ON IT.  *smirks a bit, taking a long drink*  Y'TECHNICALLY HAVE NO REASON T'TALK T'ME AT ALL.  'M ONLY HERE DROPPIN' OFF YER ENERGON, AFTER ALL. 

Warpath:

An' tech-ichnally, peace means I shouldn't have put a round int'you when I did, but somehow this slag jus' happens... *tries to take a long drink to match, but he splutters to a stop* ...wait a sec. Not FOCUSIN' on it? Like, y'TRY HARDER, 'n' y'get more sensitive?

Bonecrusher:

*shrugs*  I TURN TH' SENSORS DOWN WHEN I AIN'T EXPECTIN' ANYTHIN' GOOD T'HAPPEN.  AN' LATELY, 'M NOT EXACTLY TH' MOST SENSITIVE MECH UNDER ALL THIS PLATIN' - TRACKS HAD T'GET UNDER TH' ARMOR AN ALL UP AGAINST MY SPARK 'FORE IT DID ANYTHIN' WORTHWHILE.....  *optics dim and he goes quiet for a bit, sipping thoughtfully*

Warpath:

...slag, y've got sensors to TURN UP, don' get DOWN about it. Think this does anythin' for me? *slurps the dregs of his cube, clinks it against his chest plating, then fetches a full one* I'm sensitive in th' dumbest fuckin' places.

Bonecrusher:

AT LEAST YER SENSITIVE.  YEAH, SURE, I CAN UP TH' SENSITIVITY OF SOME CHOICE PLACES BUT MOSTA ME IS FRIED.  *pauses, processing the last sentence over again, then takes another drink*  REALLY.  DUMB, HUH?  LIKE WHAT.

Warpath:

Sprockets'f my treads. Whole cannon is fraggin' TOUCHY. Comes from all the control bits runnin' through it, but... makes me eeeedgy when anyone gets grabby wit' it. Like YOU did 'fore we had our little spat. *another little snicker, but it doesn't sound particularly mean-spirited*

Bonecrusher:

*confused frown*  I GRABBED YER CANNON?  HUH.  SLAG, MUST BE MORE FRIED THAN I THOUGHT....  *takes another glug*  CANNON SEEMS T'BE A KINDA STUPID THING T'BE SENSITIVE, CONSIDERIN' HOW OPEN IT IS.  NOT LIKE 'M ONE T'TALK, BUT STILL.

Warpath:

Yep. Big fat target, too, first thing you wanna HIT 'stead of a buncha armor platin', but it stings like a glitch when some mech tries t'whack at it... *takes another swig, then reaches out with one hand to stroke its muzzle thoughtfully*

Bonecrusher:

HUH.  NOT SURPRISIN' REALLY, I SUPPOSE.  ONCE Y'GOT ENOUGH ARMOR, ANYTHIN' THAT'S AN EASY TARGET STARTS T'GET SENSITIVE.  'S KINDA ANNOYIN'.  *finishes this cube, then crosses his arms, giving Warpath's cannon and hand a curious once-over, but not paying the whole deal much thought beyond that*

Warpath:

Hnnh. Sensible 'nough. *gulps down a heavy drink, splayed more loosely over the crates now* So what's yer easy target? Y'don' look all too easy to figure out. Maybe the wheels... can't just be pawin' at that hide of yours.

Bonecrusher:

*shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly*  TH' WHEELS ARE OKAY.  NOTHIN' PARTICULARLY SENSITIVE 'BOUT THEM.  'S TH' SLAGGIN' SHOVEL I GOTTA WATCH - 'S WHY I KINDA DON'T USE IT ALL THAT MUCH 'ROUND HERE.  'S NOT LIKE DIGGIN' IN AN' PETTIN' WIRES WON'T DO ANYTHIN', THOUGH.

Warpath:

*tilts his head, and works to drain the cube down in a hurry, even though his processor activity is starting to feel a little fuzzy* ...th' SHOVEL? Really? But y'can't USE it unless you're diggin' it into stuff. You overload every time you gotta move some dirt or somethin'?

Bonecrusher:

....I GENERALLY AIN'T MOVIN' DIRT WITH MY SHOVEL.  *blandly*

Warpath:

Then whatsa good of it?

Bonecrusher:

USED T'BE DIRT.  THEN, I FOUND... *smirks slightly*  BETTER THINGS T'DIG INTO.

Warpath:

*leers a bit* Can't quite see Tracks bein' into that, 'Crusher.

Bonecrusher:

HE ISN'T.  ONLY BLACKOUT KNOWS... KNEW 'BOUT TH' THING AT ALL.  TRACKS.....  *shrugs, unable to - or really, more accurately, unwilling to think about what the Corvette may or may not like*  HAVEN'T SEEN HIM IN A WHILE.

Warpath:

*seems to sober up a bit at that, then vents a sigh and finishes the cube* Well. 'S'how it goes.

Bonecrusher:

....I GUESS SO.  KINDA WISH IT WASN'T LIKE THAT, BUT I FIGURE HE PROBABLY DOESN'T WANNA DEAL WITH ME AT TH' MOMENT.  I WAS KINDA FRAGGED TH' LAST TIME HE SAW ME.  AN' 'SIDES, I GOTTA WORRY 'BOUT BLACKOUT FIRST.  *frowns and finally reaches out for another drink*

Warpath:

...Blackout. Hnnh. How'sat AMNESIA comin' along, anyway? *peers with a surprisingly genuine concern*

Bonecrusher:

...HOW'S AMNESIA SUPPOSED T'COME ALONG?  HE GOT AHOLD OF TH' DATABASE ON TH' NEMESIS - HE'S BEEN WORKIN' THROUGH A LOT OF IT.  FOUND OUT 'BOUT HIM AN' ME AN' IS COOL WITH IT, I GUESS.  *glugs down some of his drink*  HE'S DIFFERENT, TOO.  NEVER KNEW HIM LIKE THIS. *pauses, then says into his cube*  DUNNO IF I LIKE IT.

Warpath:

...whatcha mean, DIFFERENT? *leans forward, swaying a little bit, but keeping steady as he tries to get a read on 'Crusher* How's he actin'? Jus', not the mech you knew, or what?

Bonecrusher:

*frowns*  THINGS HAPPENED IN HIS PAST THAT HE DOESN'T KNOW, RIGHT NOW.  'S KINDA LIKE IT NEVER HAPPENED, SO FAR AS HE'S CONCERNED.  AN' SINCE IT DIDN'T HAPPEN, HE ISN'T... THINKIN' TH' SAME WAY BLACKOUT - MY  BLACKOUT - THOUGHT.  HE'S... NICER.  *sounds unsure - that's not the exact right term, but it's close enough for a drunken Decepticon*

Warpath:

...call me the moron, but you say y'dun like a NICER version of him? Primus. *picks up a new drink* Why don't y'like that?

Bonecrusher:

........I DUNNO.  JUS'.... DON'T.  I GUESS, MAYBE, 'M TOO USED T'HAVIN' HIM WANNA BEAT ME UP OVER STUPID MISTAKES I MAKE.  *shakes his head*  Y'GET USED T'SOMETHIN' AN' IT'S HARD T'CHANGE YER MIND.  GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER, AN' THAT SLAG, I GUESS.

Warpath:

'Crusher, your processor rattlin' loose? Used to havin' him beat you in? I'll get USED to the good stuff over bad, I think. Seems like a nicer plan to base ANY kinda relationship on.

Bonecrusher:

.....HE WAS A CHALLENGE.  I WAS A CHALLENGE T'HIM.  'S COMPLICATED, TEAKETTLE.  SOMETHIN' I LIKE - A BACKTALKER, AN EDGE OF VIOLENCE.  IT MIGHT BE A DECEPTICON THING.

Warpath:

Shouldn't have to be a damn CHALLENGE, gettin' with some mech is supposed to be th'FUN part. But someone who can push back, owlface? Yeah, I can get behind that notion.

Warpath:

So don't go thinkin' the purple team's got a lock on it.

Bonecrusher:

*shrugs*  I DIDN'T KNOW.  MOSTA TH' AUTOBOTS I'VE MET PREFER TH'... FUZZIES.

Warpath:

And whattaya call Vortex curled up 'round his pet Scavenger in the commons? Slag, maybe they're both POINTY, but your lot gets lovey-dovey...

Bonecrusher:

*makes a face*  DON'T ASK ME.  VORTEX IS USUALLY.... NOT LIKE THAT.  IUNNO.  SCAVENGER DOES WEIRD THINGS T'SAPS.

Warpath:

*laughs with his most lighthearted tone all night* See? I could go down a LIST, but we ain't got all night. You 'cons ain't so much rougher-edged than us when it comes to bein' sweet on someone.

Bonecrusher:

THERE AIN'T THAT MUCH OF A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN 'CONS AN' 'BOTS, TEAKETTLE.  SURE, SOME OF US ARE A LIL'.... ROUGH 'ROUND TH' EDGES, BUT WE'RE NOT ALL GALAXIES APART.

Warpath:

S'you think this cease-fire can work? Really? *tries to tilt his head in curiosity, but his whole body leans as he waits on the answer with expectation*

Bonecrusher:

.....I DUNNO.  MAYBE.  IF WE ALL GET DRUNK ENOUGH AN' BANG EACH OTHER ENOUGH, WE'LL PROBABLY GET OVER IT.  *takes a gulp, seeming to have just remembered his drink*  'S WORKIN' BETTER'N I EXPECTED.  BUT...  *sighs*  ALOTTA 'BOTS ARE ACTIN' LIKE WE 'CONS SHOULD BE ABLE T'MAKE TH' SWITCH FROM CONSTANT WAR T'PEACE, AN' THAT JUST AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN.  *tips his cube at Warpath*  AN' NOT JUST 'CONS, BUT SOME OF YER OWN RANKS.

Warpath:

Hnnh. *dims his optics as he thinks about that one; he gets the distinct feeling that he should be saying something about the 'cons being afts being the reason for the war in general, but he can't feel the argument come together enough to bother* Pretty much. Shame war and bangin' don' mix well.

Bonecrusher:

IT DOES, DOESN'T IT?  *sighs again*  AH WELL.  THEY'VE BOTH GOT THEIR UPS AN' DOWNS.

Warpath:

...that's pretty punny outta you on short notice, 'Crusher. *smirk!*

Bonecrusher:

...HUH?

Warpath:

Bangin'? Ups and downs?

Bonecrusher:

....HUH.  MAN, DIN' EVEN NOTICE THAT.

Warpath:

Lucky I'm here for you t'point out the comedic GENIUS. *toasts with his cube*

Bonecrusher:

*tips his right back*  GLAD Y'COULD DO THAT FER ME.  'M NO GOOD AT COMEDY ON MY OWN, Y'ALL GOTTA POINT IT OUT T'ME.

Warpath:

Anytime. Might not even rag on any mech y'car-*tries to stand up off his crate and stumbles forward, barely keeping from knocking into 'Crusher as he regains his footing*

Bonecrusher:

*chuckles and pats Warpath on the shoulder*  HAVIN' TROUBLE THERE, TEAKETTLE?  I THOUGHT Y'COULD HOLD YER ENERGON?

Warpath:

*squints at him, and grabs a fresh cube* Yeah, yeah. Yer behind. Catch up 'n' then we'll see what's what, this is high-grade... *guzzles!*

Bonecrusher:

AIN'T THAT FAR BEHIND YA, I'VE BEEN DRINKIN' SINCE TH' AFTERNOON.  *still, he takes his drink down and then grabs at another, because you challeneged him, man!*

Warpath:

'Cuz havin' the time to process it doesn't count at ALL. Better try harder'n that. *snorts his derision and keeps tipping it back*

Bonecrusher:

*starts downing his own drink, shaking his head*  NOT WITH MY SHODDY INTERNALS.  'S WHY I DON'T HAVE T'DRINK ALL TH' TIME T'KEEP FROM KILLIN' PEOPLE.  JUS' NEED ONE EVERY FEW HOURS T'KEEP TH' URGES DOWN.

Warpath:

...peace's kinda a tough sell when you get talkin' like that, 'Crusher. Not nice to know a chem haze is what's keepin' you from wantin' to tear out my gullet. "Urges," hnnh.

Bonecrusher:

AT LEAST 'M TRYIN' T'KEEP MYSELF IN LINE.  SOME OF THESE SLAGGERS DON'T EVEN GIVE PEACE A SHOT.  *glugglugglug - grabs a new cube - glug*  AN' 'S NOT TH' THING KEEPIN' ME FROM SLAGGIN' YA.  I JUS' GET MORE LIKELY T'GET PISSED BY IDIOTS WHEN 'M SOBER.  TRUST ME WHEN I SAY 'M NOT ABOUT T'GO OFF AN' KILL ANY OF YA JUS' 'COS I DON'T HAVE A DRINK.  *glug*  I JUS' STICK T'MY ROOM WHEN THAT HAPPENS.

Warpath:

Stick to yer room and do WHAT? Play with yarn? *drains the drink in a hurry to keep up the pace, and starts blowing through the next*

Bonecrusher:

BEAT TH' WALL UP.  *finishes off this cube and grabs another, tipping slightly as he bends to grab it*  SOMETIMES I JUS' BEAT M'HEAD INT' ONE.

Warpath:

HA. Face ain't too cute as it is, 'Crusher, shouldn't be puttin' any more dents in it. *snickers a little into the beverage, then powers through it. Maybe he needs to start talking faster to stop wasting time. Next, go!*

Bonecrusher:

SEE, TH' UGLIER M'FACE IS, TH' LESS TROUBLE I GET INTA.  OR TH' MORE.  'M NOT SURE YET.  'S EASIER BEATIN' MY HEAD INTA TH' WALL THAN ANYONE ELSE'S THOUGH - NOBODY SEEMS T'MIND ME HURTIN' MYSELF.  *liar liar, knocking the drink back quickly*

Warpath:

...the frag y'mean, not SURE? 'Cuz wailin' on yourself solves every slaggin' problem when ya don't even have a... *sighs and takes another long drink* I mind. Makes me feel sorry for you, an' that's somethin' I ain't never wanted to feel.

Bonecrusher:

*looks mildly at Warpath*  DON'T FEEL SORRY FER ME.  'S ONE OF M'COPIN' MECHANISMS.  WOULD Y'WANT ME FEELIN' SORRY FER YA RIGHT NOW, SITTIN' IN HERE, GETTIN' DRUNK AN' MOPIN' 'BOUT TH' GAS GUZZLER OF YERS?

Warpath:

*pauses at that, and leans in closer to give 'Crusher a sulky glare* When I coped by fuckin' myself up, I was bein' stuuuupid. And anyone bein' sorry for me was more'n I deserved.

Bonecrusher:

*frowns and looks at his empty cube, reaching for another*  'S EITHER LISTENIN' T'LOUD EARTH MUSIC AN' BEATIN' THE WALL IN, OR I BEAT UP STUPID AUTOBOTS.  AN' I DIDN'T LIKE DOIN' THAT TH' LAST TIME I DID IT.  AN' WHEN DID YA FUCK YERSELF UP?  *glug*

Warpath:

When I fucked everythin' else up. Y'could play it like I am an' devote the time to thinkin' how to BETTER yourself. Funny notion of mine. *raps a finger on 'Crusher's chest*  Know how?

Bonecrusher:

STOP BEIN' AN IDIOT AN' AN AFTHEAD, STOP DRINKIN' SO MUCH, AN' START BEIN' MORE CONSIDERATE TOWARDS OTHERS FEELINGS?  *glug*

Warpath:

SURE! Why not. *guuulp, ahhh, new cube* Maybe keep th' drinkin', though...

Bonecrusher:

*smirks and finishes his own cube, grabbing another - woo, balance is for wimps*  TH' DRINKIN' SURE DOES MAKE BEIN' A GOOD PERSON FEEL BETTER, HUH.  AN' IT GIVES WEIRDOS LIKE US SOME COMMON INTEREST, HUH?  *tips his cube at Warpath before downing it*

Warpath:

Common interest? Haaa... don' hurt a good mech any to be a li'l loose, 'Crusher. *slurp* But ain't nothin' special 'bout both likin' drinkin', any more'n we both need t'recharge now'n' then. Primus, y'don' even have treads to know 'bout cleanin'.

Bonecrusher:

FINE, THEN.  *another cube, hurrah!  who needs a fuel pump in three days?*  WE AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' IN COMMON 'N 'M JUS' TOO DRUNK T'REALIZE IT AN' LEAVE.

Warpath:

Naaah, y'see? Y'got the buddy thing all wrong, shiny... *smirks tipsily and jabs his finger into 'Crusher's chest again* Yer s'posed to say, "Nooooo, yer all wrong, Warpath! We understand each other 'n' slag!"

Bonecrusher:

*snorts*  WHY TH' SLAG WOULD I SAY SOMETHIN' LIKE THAT?  LAST I CHECKED, Y'DIDN'T REALLY LIKE ME.  REMEMBER?  I GOT THAT... SPELL OVER EVERYONE THA' MAKES THEM ALL LOVE ME 'N HATE YOU, REMEMBER?

Warpath:

*gulps down the last of his drink, then shakes his head* Ah, stow it. Y'tried t'help me. Yer here now. Unloadin' personal slag. Could still be the booze, but yer... alright. *dumps the empty cube and claps his hand down on 'Crusher's shoulder*

Bonecrusher:

*chuckles and finishes the cube in hand*  YEAH, 'S MY SLAGGIN' PROBLEM, SINCE I HATE EVERYTHIN'.  'LL GET OVER IT, I SUPPOSE.  *sighs melodramatically*

Warpath:

*grabs up another cube, mildly miffed by the way the pile is diminishing, and gets to work on that one too. Somehow he forgets to take his hand away* Hate everythin', 'cept drinkin', bangin', the mechs you bang, fightin', killin', givin' advice...

Bonecrusher:

AN' KITTENS.  *flatly*  I LIKE KITTENS.  *shoves the other lightly, not really caring if he moves the other any more than he needs to reach a new cube - if they run out, he can just go get more.  After all, rationing only applies to mechs that he isn't drinking with*

Warpath:

*His grip drags down over 'Crusher's arm as he tilts back, then slips off. He snorts* Kittens. Big bad 'Crusher. *glurggg*

Bonecrusher:

*glances at his arm as he slurps down the cube, grinning widely at the notion of kittens in general*  GOT ONE IN M'ROOM.  MOONRACER GAVE IT T'ME.

Warpath:

*just shakes his head* Juuuus' can't quite see it. Moonracer GIVIN' the poor thing, sure.

Bonecrusher:

*nods*  I DIN' EXPECT T'GET IT.  BUT 'S DOIN' ALRIGHT SO FAR.  TH' DIRE RATS AIN'T EVEN PICKED ON IT YET.  *still grinning a bit*  'S PRETTY CUTE.

Warpath:

...cute. Uh-huhhh. *downs a fresh gulp at the thought of THAT. Whoa, did 'Crusher just grow more limbs for a second? Weird.* If y'know that it don' like bein' poked by sharp stuff, it'll do fine, I guess. An' it eats food.

Bonecrusher:

I AIN'T STUPID.  'S GOT FOOD AN' WATER, AN' 'S NOT LIKE I DON'T KNOW HOW T'USE A HOLO T'KEEP CARE OF IT.  *finishes the cube and grabs one of the few last ones left*  JEEZE.  Y'ALL THINK 'M NOTHIN' BUT AN OAF.

Warpath:

*gets a few more swallows down and snatches up another cube before answering* I'm JOKIN'. I don' think yer dumb at all, jus' too busy mindin' other slag, maybe.

Bonecrusher:

NAH.  KEEPIN' THAT KITTEN COMFORTABLE'S A GOOD WAY T'DISTRACT ME FROM OTHER SLAG.  *thoughtfully*  Y'SHOULD GET ONE, OR SOMETHIN'.  THEY'RE NICE.

Warpath:

Nice t'what? Sit an' seem like it's somethin' alive, to care 'bout? Fill the space 'stead of wantin' another mech with you? *even slurring a bit, he sounds sad* Not my bag.

Bonecrusher:

.....*frowns*  SLAG, I HADN'T THOUGHT 'BOUT IT THAT WAY.  SONOFAGLITCH, Y'HAD T'GO AN' RUIN WHAT CAT DID FER ME, HUH.  *not really sounding all that angry*  BUT 'S NICE T'HAVE COMPANY THAT AIN'T GONNA JUDGE YA FER SLAMMIN' YER HEAD INTA TH' WALL A FEW TIMES.  *pointedly*

Warpath:

...enh? Y'serious? If 's'it's really just some better kinda, kinda, stuffed animal or somethin' for ya, better to just know it's a substitute now. But when it comes t'judgin', I... *gulps down the rest of one cube and drops it* Know whatcha mean, 'Crusher.

Bonecrusher:

I WAS HOPIN' T'KEEP THE SUBSTITUTE.  *mildly, finishing off the cube and heeey, wobbling isn't fun, let's stop that.*  AN' YEAH, FIGURED Y'KINDA WOULD.  I MEAN, Y'VE GOT TH' CANNON STICKIN' OUTTA YA.  THEN 'GAIN, AT LEAST Y'GOT FINGERS.  *lifts up a hand and shows off his claws*

Warpath:

Hopin' t'keep LYIN'. *jabs his own hand out to snatch at one of Bonecrusher's claws, pushing his fingers up alongside it in comparison* An' what's th' big deal with THAT? Not like I got a touch that's delicate or nothin'. You WANTED, you could talk to Ratchet and get 'em sheared.

Bonecrusher:

*lets the other compare all he wants - as much as he may bitch about them, his claws are pretty damned indespensible*  ARE YA KIDDIN' ME?  I AIN'T GETTIN' RIDDA THESE THINGS.  TH' SHOVEL'S TOO SENSITIVE FER NORMAL BAR-ROOM BRAWLS 'N TH' LIKE.  'SIDES.  Y'CAN'T USE FINGERS T'PRY PLATIN' UP.  OR GET TH' RIGHT KINDA FRICTION AGAINST A SPARK CASIN'.  *ponders for a minute*  PROBABLY TH' RIGHT KINDA FRICTION ANYWHERE, BUT WHATEVER.

Warpath:

The SLAG y'talkin' 'bout? You don' even KNOW, man, y'don' even KNOW! *pinches down on 'Crusher's claw and drags his index finger and thumb up its length to make the point* Y'can punch, y'can pry, it's a little blunter, but y'sure as HELL can get the friction you need. Don' have to try nudgin' stuff you don't want to pierce from the side, either!

Bonecrusher:

*twists his hand and hooks a claw around one of Warpath's fingers, clenching kind of tightly*  BUT Y'CAN'T CUT PEOPLE'S FINGERS OFF WITH REGULAR HANDS.

Warpath:

*His optics flicker for a moment* ...'sat a threat?

Bonecrusher:

*keeps the pressure evenly*  MAYBE.  Y'TOUCHED ME.  BY ALL RIGHTS, I SHOULD BE RIPPIN' YER FINGERS OFF YER HAND ONE BY ONE.

Warpath:

...the slag just went wrong with your processors?

Warpath:

Here we're talkin' real nice an' you get to shit like that?

Warpath:

Do it an' I'll pump a round into your big owly face. Both of 'em.

Bonecrusher:

*laughs lightly, releasing most of the pressure from the other's finger*  NAH, MAN.  'M NOT GONNA BE THREATENIN' YA THIS DRUNK.  TRUST ME, IF I WERE THREATENIN' YA, Y'D BE MISSIN' A FEW FINGERS -- AN' TWO?   *blinks a bit blankly*  YER SEEIN' DOUBLE ALREADY?

Warpath:

If I was missin' fingers, you wouldn' be threatenin', you'd be attackin'. *despite his blurry visuals, he seems to have sobered up dramatically* So yer threatenin', right now, 'Crusher. Maybe we should call it a night 'fore this gets any further.

Bonecrusher:

*idly, still kind of smiling*  SURE, IF 'S WHAT Y'D RATHER.

Warpath:

I'd RATHER y'not say dumb slag like that'n the first place. Not endearin', 'Crusher.

Bonecrusher:

*idly*  AIN'T TRYIN' T'BE ENDEARIN', HERE, WARPATH.  IF I WERE BEIN' ENDEARIN', THERE'D BE MORE SWEET NOTHIN'S 'N MESSIN' WITH YER CANNON.

Warpath:

...then th'fuck ARE y'tryin' to be? I sure can't make out.

Bonecrusher:

AIN'T TRYIN' T'BE MUCH OF NOTHIN'.  Y'GOT ME ALL DRUNK 'N 'M RELAXED.  WHAT D'YA EXPECT ME T'DO?

Warpath:

Not TRYIN' to do much of anythin', all relaxed, 'n' you've still got me riled? I just 'spected you to know that talkin' 'bout ripping up someone's limbs kind of kills the mood.

Bonecrusher:

*raises an optic ridge*  MOOD.  EH, IF Y'WANT MOOD, FINISH OFF TH' LAST COUPLE'A CUBES.  *eyes the single-digit remains of their once huge pile*  AFTER ALL, 'S KINDA POINTLESS IN DRAGGIN' UP MY ENTIRE STOCK IF YER GONNA LEAVE THOSE LYIN' 'ROUND.  *even sounds slightly hurt*

Warpath:

*stares at 'Crusher with no shortage of bewilderment, but he grabs up one more drink and starts sipping at a more modest pace* You got an angle, here?

Bonecrusher:

*shakes his head*  I CAME UP HERE WITH ENERGON 'COS I FIGURED Y'NEEDED A DRINK OR TWEN'Y.  AM I SUPPOSED T'HAVE AN ANGLE OTHER'N THAT?  'SIDES, I DON'T APOLOGIZE FER THREATENIN' MECHS WHO CAN HANDLE THEMSELVES, BUT SINCE Y'REALLY SEEM SO BENT OUTTA SHAPE OVER IT, FIGURE OFFERIN' TH' LAST DREGS OF MY BACKSTOCK'S GONNA BE ENOUGH.  *shrugs*

Warpath:

Hnnh. All I'm sayin'... is that when y'suggest fuckin' me up just fer touchin' you,  don't sound too much like we're on th'sound. Parta th'disadvantage of havin' those claws. Makes what y'say a li'l more menacing.

Bonecrusher:

C'MON.  LIKE 'M REALLY GONNA GO ATTACKIN' ANYBODY LIKE THIS.  IF I WERE MORE SOBER, SURE, BUT I DON'T CARE ENOUGH 'BOUT WHAT Y'DO T'BEAT ON YA SERIOUSLY.  *his face actually twists into the 'con and/or Bonecrusher equivalent of a pout*  AN' 'M PLENTY MENACIN' WITH OR WITHOUT TH' CLAWS.

Warpath:

*tenses his grip slightly as he chuckles* Hey. 'Crusher. Tank. No cannon, no menace.

Warpath:

Least not 'nough to make me care for more than breakin' good spirit.

Bonecrusher:

*smirks*  YEAH, BUT YER CANNON AIN'T JUST MENACE.  'S... *he waves his free hand, making no move with the other, which is occupied at the moment, thanks*  CHARACTER, OR SUMMIN'.  Y'WOULDN'T BE WARPATH WITHOUT IT, OR SUMMIN'.

Warpath:

*leans closer, looking a little disgruntled at that* ...says who?

Bonecrusher:

*frowns*  ME.  Y'LIKE  HAVIN' A CANNON, DON'TCHA?  'S SOMETHIN' THAT SEPERATES YOU FROM TH' IDIOTS OUT THERE WITH THEIR.... Y'KNOW, WINGS  AN' SHINY PAINTJOBS AN' SUCH.  'S A BIT COOLER, HAVIN' SUMMIN' FER FORM AN'  FUNCTION.

Warpath:

*squints, looking a little askew from 'Crusher, then tilting his head to compensate* But all people see is a gun in'eir face. Ends up not doin' me many favors.

Bonecrusher:

'S NOT LIKE YER GONNA SHOOT  'EM WITH IT.  *twists his free hand a bit to tap the muzzle of said cannon lightly with a claw*  SEE, YER NOT 'BOUT T'SHOOT ME, AN' I EVEN THREATENED YA.  'S NOT LIKE EVERYONE ASSUMES, JUS' 'COS YER A TANK YER GONNA ATTACK ANYONE.

Warpath:

*The barrel shivers under the touch. He drops his gaze down to the claw, then slowly looks back up at 'Crusher, thoughtful* ...when'd you find the time to get a read on me?

Bonecrusher:

*still smirking, not really thinking to move his claw from where it's resting against the cannon for the moment*  I JUS' PAY ATTENTION.

Warpath:

Well. *rocks forward, pushing the barrel gently up against the digit on it, and staaares at 'Crusher's optics* Most don't.

Bonecrusher:

*pushes back out of instinct, bringing another claw forward to apply more pressure*  I KINDA TRY TO.  'S MORE FUN IF Y'KNOW WHAT'S GOIN' ON.  *even while he says that, it's probably not very clear to him what's going on right now, either*

Warpath:

...fun if you... *shakes his head gingerly back and forth to clear it, then takes a single step closer* Why y'payin' attention to me?

Bonecrusher:

*keeps his ground, not really noticing the distance between them disappearing*  'COS.  'S WHAT I DO.  'SIDES, YER NOT A BAD GUY, TEAKETTLE.  Y'JUST GET INTA STUPID SLAG.  *shrugs*  AIN'T LIKE I DUNNO HOW THAT IS.

Warpath:

Know how... what is? Slag like lettin' you get yer claws on me? *lets the cube slip from his grasp as he leans forward, not entirely sure what he's thinking, but hyper-aware of the little tremors of pleasure going up along the shaft of his cannon* 'S'not so dumb.

Bonecrusher:

COULD BE.  *optics narrowing a little, but he's not trying to be malicious at the moment*  YER TH' ONE WHO THOUGHT I WAS THREATENIN' YA JUS' A MINUTE AGO.  *adds as an afterthought*  I WASN'T.

Warpath:

I know, jus' di'n' soun' right. *keeps leaning closer, bit by bit* An' now, it's kinda... th' opposite.

Bonecrusher:

*isn't paying much attention towards the other's movement, keeping his optics locked on Warpath's*  TH' OPPOSITE?  *sounding slightly impatient*  'M A BIT PLASTERED, 'KETTLE.  GOTTA BE A BIT MORE DIRECT WITH YER WORDS.  NOT VERY GOOD WITH THEM T'START WITH.

Warpath:

'm kinda tipsy myself... *falls quiet for a moment, then reaches up to his faceguard. He fumbles with it for a moment before it pops off into his hand with a hiss, still staring* What I meant to say. Is. Either leggo my cannon. Or put another claw on.

Bonecrusher:

*blinks at the statement, realizing where the slag his hand is now, and looks down at his claws on Warpath's cannon, frowning in confusion.  He doesn't remember  that getting there...  It takes him a moment, and then his mind processes the options and the challenge in them, adds up the amount of cubes consumed in the course of the night, and his stupidity rate for the last few days - and then he puts a third claw against the cannon, dragging all three along the muzzle slightly and meeting Warpath's optics again*

Warpath:

*His mouth parts as if to protest, then widens into a silent moan as the movement brings his finer sensors tingling to life. He peers at 'Crusher, trying to get some kind of read on WHY, but he can't summon up any particular understanding right now in his current haze. His hands twitch as the thought comes that he should be doing something with them*

Bonecrusher:

*there's not exactly any sort of "why" in his current thought process - just a challenge that was issued and is now being met, as he scrapes his claws against the muzzle again, lightly enough to not even scratch the paint.  The look on his face is a silent challenge in itself, asking What Now, Autobot? *

Warpath:

*drops the plate of his faceguard to the floor with a clatter and takes another half-step forward, pushing rather close now. He raises one hand up to the side of 'Crusher's face, hovering over the metal without touching it. Warpath isn't quite certain he's up to a challenge after all this slag in his life* ...hnnh.

Bonecrusher:

*relaxes his hold on the cannon, smirking slightly at Warpath, still not going for malicious in posture or expression*  YER OKAY, WARPATH.  *take that as he will*

Warpath:

'Crusher. *says it flatly, able to think a bit more clearly without the stirrings at his muzzle. But 'Crusher, just a little blurry, calm and reasonable, who stuck out for him once... all the considerations bleed together in the swirl of alcohol. Warpath's hand closes down as he leans in to plant a kiss*

Bonecrusher:

*the normal warning bells that usually try to get Bonecrusher's attention don't really go off this time, since he doesn't see any particular reason to worry about this situation, and lets the other move in, claws scratching again against the cannon.  He's not going to directly start something, but he's not going to play unreceptive to the other, either*

Warpath:

*holds his mouth against 'Crusher's for a long few seconds, not exactly passionate about it as he gauges this. His whole body shudders as the claws work over his barrel, but suddenly something clicks. Nuh-uh. He shoves firmly at 'Crusher's chest, pushing himself away as much as trying to knock the Decepticon back* ...yer okay too. Jus' okay.

Bonecrusher:

*steps back, going with the shove and letting go of Warpath easily.  He sizes the other up with that smirk still on his face - as close to a smile as Warpath's going to get*  FEELIN' A BIT BETTER, NOW?

Warpath:

Yeah. Better. Not so great, an' maybe "better" 'n before isn't so hard to pull off, but. Still somethin'. *in the awkward pause that follows, his optics drift back to 'Crusher's claws* Wouldn' be opposed to gettin' my cannon rubbed, though.

Bonecrusher:

*shifts on his tires, claws twitching a bit under scrutiny*  Y'PROBABLY WOULDN'T BE, BUT I DOUBT Y'WANT ME DOIN' SOMETHIN' LIKE THAT.

Warpath:

...I do, actually, but that's just 'cause it feels nice. 's'not like there's much to offer in return, though. So, whatever. *shrugs his shoulders and averts his optics to the few remaining cubes* 'Less you want me toyin' with your shovel, but I'm prol'ly woozy 'nough to bang it up.

Bonecrusher:

NAH.  'SIDES....  'S PROBABLY NOT A GOOD IDEA.  BELIEVE ME, TH' LAST TIME THIS HAPPENED, EVERYTHIN' WENT HORRIBLY, HORRIBLY AWRY.  FER YER OWN SAKE, 'PATH, I WOULD SUGGEST NOT DOIN' IT.  *and he is not just talking about himself*

Warpath:

Seriously, 'Crusher? Awry? *sounds genuinely amused as he continues, and his voice is even* My personal life is kinda sittin' at rock bottom right now, an' I'm not in any hurry to get attached t'you, 'n' yer obviously not gonna get attached t'me. Y'don' wanna feel me up, whatever, doesn' shock me. But feelin' good is the last thing that I'm worried 'bout right now.

Bonecrusher:

*snorts, shaking his head*  YER FRAGGED.  WHY NOT JUS' DO IT YERSELF?  'S NOT LIKE IT'S OUTTA YER REACH.

Warpath:

'S'not the same thing, 'Crusher. Own processors know it's comin' and compensate for it. *a smirk is slowly rising up* Why y'lookin' for excuses? Jus' say you don' want to do it.

Bonecrusher:

'COS 'M DRUNK ENOUGH T'BE CONSIDERIN' IT, DESPITE TH' HORRIBLY BAD IDEA.  AN' IF IT WEREN'T FOR -- OTHER THINGS, I PROBABLY WOULD.  *pauses for a second, going over the words again before adding*  ALSO, DRUNK 'NOUGH T'NOT WANNA BE A BLUNT AFTHEAD 'BOUT STUFF.

Warpath:

...Primus, man, yer bein' vague. *squint* "Other things" 'n' "horribleness" that y'ain't even explainin'? I don' even know what there is to be an afthead ABOUT. Stop bein' awkward, it don't suit you. Jus' say you want to or say y'don't.

Bonecrusher:

ALRIGHT, THEN.  NO, NOT PARTICULARLY, MOSTLY 'COS I STILL HAVE TH' HOTS FER TRACKS, 'M TECHNICALLY INVOLVED WITH BLACKOUT, AN' YER NOT EXACTLY M'STYLE.  *shrugs*

Warpath:

'Kay, then. Nothin' more to it. *takes a half-step back to put an extra distance between them, not forcefully or particularly awkwardly, but just to give 'Crusher some space* Don' fraggin' see how Tracks 'n' BLACKOUT fit into any one style, though.

Bonecrusher:

NOW, SEE, IF THEY FIT  T'GETHER, I WOULDN'T BE HAVIN' NEARLY SO MANY PROBLEMS, NOW WOULD I?  *dryly*  IF THEY WERE ALIKE, I WOULDN'T BE SO TEMPTED BY ONE OR TH' OTHER.

Warpath:

Big problem. *chuckles to himself* Play it like 'Cracker and bang 'em both?

Bonecrusher:

*sneers*  I DON'T WANNA BE ANYTHIN' LIKE THAT FRAGGIN' IDIOT MISSCLOCKED SEEKER MORON.  *then sighs, looking a little defeated*  JUS' DUNNO WHAT T'DO.

Warpath:

Simple from what I know 'bout it all. Blackout's memory banks are fried. Shame, I guess, but y'SAY he's not th'same. Tell him y'can't make it work with him like this and dump his aft for Tracks. You'll just pine over th'rotorhead you lost, otherwise.

Bonecrusher:

'M STILL GONNA PINE  OVER BLACKOUT, WHETHER OR NOT 'M WITH TRACKS.  AN' SIDES, TRACKS... I DON'T LOVE  TRACKS.  SEE TH' DILEMMA WHEN Y'LOVE ONE BUT Y'WANNA BANG SOMEONE ELSE?

Warpath:

...no. Not really. Love ain't such a thing, 'Crusher. I love 'Breaker, but it didn't keep us together. Mech you love bought it. Don' get all EMO, *and a little bit of a sneer at the chance to turn that back on 'Crusher* jus' roll with it. Tracks got with you after you fucked him up, sounds like there's enough feelin' there.

Bonecrusher:

.....MAYBE YER RIGHT.  I DUNNO.  'S NOT LIKE BLACKOUT IS... ALL  DIFFERENT.  BUT....  *shrugs*  'M DOIN' GOOD FER TRACKS BY NOT GOIN' AFTER HIM.

Warpath:

If you blew out enough fuses to try slaggin' him again, yeah, but I kinda got the impression that wasn't gonna happen. *turns and stumbles over to sit down on one of the crates again* Don' tell me you're some kinda whacked-out purist sayin' like gotta mate with like.

Bonecrusher:

SLAG NO.  WOULDN'TVE TOUCHED AN AUTOBOT LIKE TRACKS TH' WAY I'VE BEEN  TOUCHIN' HIM A YEAR AGO, BUT... EH.  TIMES CHANGE.  'S NOT LIKE 'M GONNA BE ALL AGAINST HIM 'COS HE'S A 'BOT.  SLAG.  AN' I AIN'T GONNA HURT HIM.  BUT HE'S GOT HIS OWN PROBLEMS.  I GOTTA DEAL WITH MINE, 'FORE I CAN DEAL WITH HIM.

Warpath:

Fine. *waves his hand out* Shoot. Rattle off these problems of yours.

Bonecrusher:

MY PROBLEM IS THAT I CAN'T.... CAN'T.... *groans and puts a hand to his head*  SLAGGIT, TEAKETTLE, I CAN'T EVEN THINK OF MY PROBLEMS.  MAYBE I SHOULD  JUS' GO BANG TRACKS INTO TH' WALL AN' DO TONS OF DIRTY THINGS T'HIM.  BUT I DON'T WANNA FUCK UP BLACKOUT ANY MORE'N HE'S ALREADY FUCKED UP.  'M FRAGGED.

Warpath:

Don' expect you to take my advice on the subject, but... *leans his weight back against the second level of crates, staring a little above 'Crusher as he thinks and recollects* You'll frag yourself up worse to be with 'im. Blackout. You'll keep seein' the differences 'tween him and the one you knew. It'll keep comin' to mind, all th' time, you won' get away from it. Way I see it, you fucked up the 'copter by not lettin' him go as dead once you knew he'd been wiped.

Warpath:

So you think you got problems, now, but if y'jus' WENT with Tracks, 'stead of feelin' bound to old slag y'can't control, they'll go away. New Blackout'd find someone else. Or not, and just grouse around solo, but findin' himself out without you EXPECTIN' anythin' from him. That's what I've heard is the worst.

Warpath:

Expectations of shit you can't live up to.

Bonecrusher:

.....*nods*  I KNOW THAT.  DOESN'T CHANGE TH' FACT THAT I STILL LOVE BLACKOUT.  'S... COMPLICATED, ALWAYS COMPLICATED.  EVER SINCE WE CAME T'THIS STUPID FRAGGIN' PLANET, EVERYTHIN'S BEEN COMPLICATED....

Warpath:

Only as complicated as you let it be. *shrugs* Well. Maybe 's'all a li'l complex 'cuz Prime and Megs 're both retards, but that's a whole 'nother thing. Not us.

Bonecrusher:

MAN, I MUST BE SLAGGIN' STUPID, THEN, 'COS I'VE LET THIS WHOLE THING GET OUTTA HAND.  *quietly*  MAYBE I SHOULD  JUS'.... I DON'T EVEN KNOW.

Warpath:

Won't get anywhere sulkin' over it and mopin', 'Crusher. 's'what I did a while 'fore talkin' to 'Breaker. Just made it worse. Choose what yer gonna do. An' do it. An' maybe regret it later, but least get over it faster.

Bonecrusher:

....YER PROBABLY RIGHT.  I PROBABLY SHOULD JUST...... STOP CARIN'.  BUT SLAGGIT, 'S KINDA HARD.  MEH, I'LL GET DRUNK AN' FIGURE IT OUT WHEN I FIGURE OUT WHAT'S GOIN' ON WITH TRACKS AN' BLACKOUT, RESPECTIVELY.  I HAVEN'T TALKED T'EITHER OF 'EM IN A WHILE.

Warpath:

Drunk now, ain't you? Get your aft outta here and go TALK TO 'EM. Work it out. You gotta choice of people to bang, that's s'pposed to be a GOOD situation. *shoots a grin*

Bonecrusher:

SERIOUSLY.  *smirks back at Warpath*  GIVE ME THIS CHOICE A YEAR AGO AN' I'D BE ONE STEP AHEAD OF YA BY NOW.  MEH.  PROB'LY SHOULD LEAVE, ANYWAYS.  *eyes the last bit of the pile*  MAKE SURE Y'DRINK THAT, OKAY?  I NEEDA MAKE A NEW BATCH.

Warpath:

Don' need to tell me twice. *gives a mocking solute, then turns rather more earnest* Thanks, 'Crusher.

Bonecrusher:

NO PROBLEM, TEAKETTLE.  AN' IF Y'HAD CAUGHT ME AT ANOTHER TIME... HM.  *gives the other a half-wave, already heading to the door*  SHOOT ME A LINE IF Y'NEED ME AGAIN.

Warpath:

Ha. Could wait a while, if y'just dropped off another load the size fer tomorrow...

Bonecrusher:

I'LL KEEP YA STOCKED UNTIL Y'GET SICK OF ENERGON, IN THAT CASE.

Warpath:

Now that's what I call friendship. *splays back with a contented sigh* See you 'round, 'Crusher.

Bonecrusher:

*shakes his head*  DON'T DIE WHILE 'M GONE.  SEE YA, 'KETTLE.  *and is gone!  Now he has other things to do!*