Jazz sits at the li'l bar, watching traffic in and out of the pub, with a drink in front of him. Yeah. He's got a moment to relax.

Catechism enters, looking a little dull-opticed and tired. Argh, defiantly shouldn't have gone that without refuelling. Getting caught in the middle of nowhere while running on fumes is a dumb, dumb thing, Catechism! The Seeker looks out of sorts in neutral territory, and glances around, all glassy-opticed, trying to get her bearings.

Jazz notes the appearance of a coneheaded seeker within the confines of the bar. Hmm. Better keep an optic or two on that one.... but then, this is a neutral area. He's just here for a quiet drink, and some inform-- oh. Well. Just a quiet drink today. Slight shift, hand curling around the drink container.

Catechism doesn't notice Jazz right now, what with her habit of missing the obvious and the subtle alike. She staggers over to the bar, her warlike if lethargic stride marking her clearly as out of place. The Seeker rarely visits these neutral places, and she really doesn't know how to deal with such sitations.

Hmm. Lethargic stride. Guess someone needs a drink, huh? Jazz takes another sip, and... continues to watch. He doesn't really need to be chatting up Decepticon femmes. Or Jets. Or... uh. Yeah. He doesn't need to start a barfight. Really now. Neutrality here.

Catechism finally makes it over and places her hands on the bar for support, although she's not quite that bad off. She's still not going out on a long patrol alone without topping up first for a long time after this, though. Gee, sure hope this place takes Imperial credit... Catechism raises a finger of one hand, static-coughs, and orders, "A mug of plain."

Catechism looks startled. Huh, someone's talking to her? She glances over... ah, an Autobot? There's a truly odd look on her face. The normally cheerful Seeker frowns and replies, "If you say so." Yeah, she's not going to take his advice. It's probably poisoned.

Sideswipe saunters into the bar, humming and grinning. Footsteps take him towards the bar itself where he starts to nod at the 'tender with a grin. The grin freezes as he looks about, catches sight of Jazz and raises a hand, "Hey there..." pause, blink, smile to scowl... looking at the winged seeker decepticon type. "Hey... "

Jazz is mellow. Mellow mellow mellow. Might have something to do with the high grade in his mug. Or the fact that he was kinda busy at the time, trying not to slip in black gook and avoid getting impaled with an energy sword. "Heya 'Swipe." he calls back, raising the mug. "They got yer favorite t'day."

Catechism glances back over her shoulder, slowly, slowly. Red. Autobot. There's a dozen of them, but... she remembers this one. Great. Just need a certain yellow car to show up, and it could be 'Autobots Catechism has helped capture' night. She raps a hand against the bar and orders, "On second thought, make that a Hexane Hex." Getting back to base be slagged. She needs the drink.

Sideswipe narrows optics to stare.. or more like glare at the seeker. He twists mouth into some kind of sardonic approximation of a sneer. But he directs his words towards Jazz, "When worlds collide or th' apocolype?" dry tone.

<may be missed poses here>

Catechism glares back at Sideswipe, hunching over the bar. Her wings are raised slightly, as if to make her look bigger. Oh, she's defensive all right. She can't afford a fight, not now and not here, so she's just going to make her best attempt to scare off a fight before it can happen.

<definately missed poses here>

Catechism flicks her ailerons in a rather annoyed fashion and waits for her drink to arrive. She puts on something of a smile. Can't let the Autobots catch her out of sorts... or more out of sorts than she already is, at any rate. Hey, Catechism's a Decepticon, and this is her planet (to her mind). There's no reason for alarm just because she's tired and outnumbered outside of her faction's territory.

<likewise>

Catechism is standing by the bar, hands braced against the edge, waiting for her drink to arrive. She looks bushed, and that would be why she's here and waiting quietly, rather than picking fights. The Seeker looks very out of place. Even standing still, there's just a bit of arrogant Decepticon strut that stands out and doesn't fit in.

Ballistic has arrived.

Jazz continues to sit at the bar. Nice big mug of something that he's drinking out of in front of him. He's comfortably leaning on the bar, and well... grinning. Ten car pile-up. Muah.

Sideswipe settles, leaning a bit against the bar next to Jazz, optics slitted twinklngs of an icy hue of blue, but he's wearing a grin. His drink is slid to him, he nods to the 'tender before taking a pull, "Yeah yeah, Just one. I mean, comeone. *someone's* got t' be th' responsible one..." He's keeping a slight watch on Catechism, but grinning nonetheless.

Ballistic moves into the Steel Baloon, smirking to himself as he walks in, eyeing the area.

Fleet steps in and glances around, more cautious than usual, but then, last time he came here things got rather... odd. Still, although Fleet generally doesn't get overenegized anymore, he needs a chance to relax from time to time, and at the moment he's in the mood to... celebrate something as well. And... hey! There's someone he knows! And... some Autobots as well. Fleet shrugs, glides all the way in, and slips carefully through the crowd before approaching the bar next to Catechism.

Swindle has arrived.

Catechism espies Fleet out of the corner of her optic and glances over at him. Instantly, she looks more cheerful. She's not outnumbered by Autobots she's helped capture anymore! Grinning despite herself, she greets, "Hello, Fleet."

Jazz is perfectly fine here. Drinking. And being outnumbered. "You? Responsible?" he smirks, "That's usually my job, ain't it?" Well heck. He's been doing his people watching number for a while now. He's aware of the 'Cons in the area.

Swindle saunters in, casting a casual-appearing look over the dance floor, not appearing to seek any particular individual. A faint grin appears on his face, while there are a number of familiar faces here, there isn't... anyone in particular, ahem. He makes his way to the bar, to pass the time.

Ballistic wnaders to sit down nexr to his fellow sweeps, smiling to himself and leaning on the bar "Hello Fleet, Catechism' then looking down the bar "Autobot"

Sideswipe sips his drink, optics glittering. "yeah, me.." He stiffens as more cons enter, "hey look, more goond."

goons

Jazz is definately feeling a little outnumbered. And that'll start killing the buzz. "Yep. Few of 'em been runnin' in an' out... mostly runnin'."

Fleet stifles a sigh. Oh, goody. Mr. Honorable. He inclines his head politely and greets Ballistic, but returns Catechism's greeting with more genuine warmth. "Catechism," he says. Whether he even hears the insults that Jazz and Sideswipe are tossing his way, he doesn't give any sign. Fleet's never had much pride, isn't easily insulted to begin with... and frankly doesn't care /what/ any Autobots might think about him.

Sideswipe sips at the pile-up... "nothin t' worry about."

Catechism stiffens. Ah, finally. There's her drink. She sips at it and winces. A Hexane Hex on an empty tank is a dumb, dumb thing. Hence why she's drinking it. Her sense of taste fully deadened, she smiles and explains to the two nearby Seekers, "Just need a pitstop." Given that there are Autobots around, Catechism's not going to explain why. She's not that dumb.

Ballistic hrmmms a little and smirks to himself and looks to Sideswipe, observing him "You are an Earth Autobot, aren't you? I am not familiar with your alternate mode design" optic ridge rising.

Jazz isn't actually insulting Fleet. He's drinking and mildly ribbing Sideswipe. OK, so there's that bit about running away. But wouldn't you run away from a potential bar brawl, if your armour is made of paper? "Nah. Ain't nothin' t'worry 'bout here." he says. Barhopping. Now he's got to go to Monacus sometime, and... stare at Ballistic curiously through the visor. "Hnh."

Oh, yes, good idea. Go and chat up the Autobots. Fleet nods slightly towards Catechism. "I've gotcha." Although he's obviously aware of the Autobots, and obviously keeping a wary optic in their direction, he still gives an impression of 'trying to pretend they aren't here.' The pastel wonder catches the bartender's attention and orders... an energon. A mug of plain old ordinary energon. How /boring/.

You paged Fleet with 'Catechism's ICly here because she was out on patrol alone and ran out of fuel. She was going to get normal energon, but having Autobots around gave her enough of a headache to want to get somewhat hammered. She's not going to explain this, because she doesn't want the Autobots to know she's a silly head who headed out alone without enough fuel.'.

Swindle casts a curious glance over at a number of the more familiar patrons, the seekers he's dealt with recently, passing the time while he awaits his order. Well, his cont- no one in particular is here, so may as well kill some time. Indiciating to the barman, he moves over to the others, grinning as pleasantly as ever. He does, however, spare a mildly surprised look at Ballistic as he engages the Autobots in conversation.

Sideswipe looks over at Ballistic, optics widen, "You talkin t' me?" He looks at Jazz, "I think it's talkin t' me." wicked grin. "What should I say t' it?" He sips his drink.

Ballistic blinks at that, and simply continues "I simply am interested, autobot,' frowning a little 'No need to be snide" his tone rather, well bland.

Fleet smiles a greeting to Swindle, even as he continues to not pay obvious attention to the Autobots and the Seeker who insists on trying to chat with the Autobots. "Swindle," he says as the Combaticon approaches.

Jazz chuckles softly, "Tell 'im you're a li'l red wagon, an' he can't ride?" Jazz could sing the song, but that would involve ... um... well, Sideswipe might want to smack him after that. "An' ya know..." he trails off for a moment, engrossed in whatever it is he's drinking.

Catechism downs the rest of her Hexane Hex in one go and cringes. Still, she's got a bit of energy now. Can make it back to base, although she'll probably be wobbling all over the sky when she does. Casting a glance over at Ballistic, she snorts. Catechism prefers to talk to Autobots who are actively trying to kill her. She finds it a more worthwhile pursuit. The coneheaded Seeker nods to Fleet and says, "Right. I got what I came for," and on that dangling preposition, she pays off the bartender and stumbles out.