A small stage has been 'erected' in the middle of the room. On it, stands the Emperor of the entire known universe, Galvatron. He seems in good enough spirits, for now. The tables are all decorated in full imperial regala, with full pitchers of energon lining them...enough for everyone and then some. "Welcome, my servants. Please, sit. Enjoy what I have laid out for you. We come here today for a purpose. A good purpose. Please, sit.

Normally, this is the kind of thing he wouldn't bother with. Not when he's on the hunt for prey... Autobot prey, to be more concise, and Jazz if we're delving into specifics. But Scourge also knows that, after spending a lot of his time searching for Autobots, that occasionally even he needs to take a break.

He stalks into the Officer's Hall from the south, optics narrowed slightly. He looks around for several moments, then ascends to his rightful place: beside Galvatron. The drinking, if he's going to imbibe anything, will only occur when he collects Jazz, rips off one of his legs and beats him to the brink of death, and then brings his sorry, worthless chassis before Galvatron. The unaided clawed removal of Jazz's lasercore and crucifixion of his chassis for display in front of Iahex will be later.

Scrapper idly rubs his hands as he enters, obviously having some nervous energy to work off. Arachnae may be stabilized, but there's a lot of work to be done, and he'd prefer to be in the laboratory, working on manufacturing the custom parts needed for the unique medical researcher, or in the medical ward proper, monitoring her status. Still, there are formalities to attend to, and Scrapper's not such a fool to think that he could skip out on a ceremony like this.

Singe enters the room not far behind Scourge, parting ways with the Sweep Commander as he ascends to his place near Galvatron. Singe himself, not cracked on 'mingling with the commoners' so to speak, takes up a place nearby where he is easily available at the call of his Commander should anything require his services.

Fusillade falls into step behind Axis, and nods. "Correct on the name. I suspect that I'm... grating on the circuits of others with my anxiousness. I will stay my hand. And thank you for agreeing to obtaining the data." At the peppering of German, she finds herself wondering just how many of the Terran dialects she's been exposed to in her time on both planets. She laces taloned gauntlets in front of her trim belly, and gives him a sharp nod, sparing him any more administrative trivia. A respectful silence descends upon her, as her optics lock on the podium and the assembling honorees.

Stepping fully into the Officer's Quarters, polished to the nines yet still tinted with a sickening tinge of ill-placed trust, AXIS wades amidst the gathering, arms crossed, imperialistic pompousness leading the charge as he ensures eye contact is made with each and everyone present. Touching not a soul as he passes, the seeker finds the base of the dais, dipping to a knee with the most gracious gesture of deference, head bowed as if in prayer. For once, maybe the only time, you see his optics shut, choking of the usual penetrating scarlet glow. He speaks in moderate tones, still tinged with the always present sound of a watchful eye...

"Sieg heil, mein Fuhrer. I live to serve."

Suck up. Or dutiful soldier. Take your pick. But as previously discussed, the germanic seeker takes his place upon the dais, formally saluting the other ranking members present before sliding into position. Once again his optics assume the standard watchful state, dancing amidst the crowd with a skillful glare.

Striding wordlessly into the ceremony is Soundwave, loyal aide to Galvatron and the optics and audio input units for his mighty leader. There will be energon - much energon - for this valued Communications Officer later. For now, he takes his place standing near Galvatron, focussing on the gathered Decepticons. Right now any one of them could be muttering something about Galvatron, and while their leader might not hear it, Soundwave most certainly will. Watch your mouths, Decepticons, and don't let the ample Energon loosen them too much. Soundwave is here.

Bonecrusher Bonecrusher looks at Scrapper as the latter enters. From his body-language, he can tell that his gestalt made would rather be elsewhere. Bonecrusher can understand that - Constructicons are practical beings that are happiest while at work, and tend to give little for formalities. Still, being at the ceremony is expected, and it's not unpleasant to Bonecrusher to see the Emperor of Destruction in a pleased mood. Respectfully smiling up at Galvatron, Bonecrusher takes a seat as commanded.

Long Haul follows his brother, Scrapper, in and hovers unconsciously near him, looking around as he does. His featureless visage serves to mask the combination of excitement, nervousness, and confusion that he's experiencing, but there is still something in the way he stands, in how stiffly he holds himself, that betrays this. He gets a medal and recognition! That's great! But... he didn't beat up anyone for it. That's confusing!

Emperor of the known universe, except for those bits that we're not really counting. They're big bits, too. Practically everything, in fact. Despite this, Swindle saunters into the hall, disguising a careful scrutiny of his fellow Decepticons present as a casual gaze. A faint smile is etched on his face, although a closer observer might note a smirk-like quality about it.

+gtalk Oh. Bonecrusher, as our token German, it is your solemn duty to mock Axis behind his back on the +gtalk channel. Are you up to the challenge?

Galvatron nods at his troopers, "Excellent. We are gathered here today in celebration. Celebration of troopers that carried out their Master and Emperor's orders without question, in an immediate fashion. Such things deserve recognition. They deserve the heart of cybertron." he walks over to the desk on the stage, opening it up to reveal the medals. All of them. "Those that are awarded these and off duty, will have their medals laid on the floor, as is tradition. We will present it at a later time. Otherwise? Lord Scourge, and my current command apprentice(implying there will be others? interesting) Lord Axis...will present these medals as I announce the names of those deserving. But first..." he pauses, moving to his temporary throne to pour three glasses off energon. He carries one to Scourge and one to Axis, keeping one himself. "First, I propose a toast. Though we may have lost Earth. We will NOT lose Cybertron. Already we have spurned the Autobots twice. Once in recovering Arachnae so quickly, again? With our destruction of their patrol. Soon, Cybertron will belong to us. Decepticons..." he raises his glass, "TO MY EMPIRE AND OUR GLORY!"

Scourge nods solemnly, raising the given glass in return. "To Lord Galvatron and the Decepticon Empire!" he replies, loudly enough to carry throughout the room.

Singe echoes, kind of, "To Emperor Galvatron, his Empire and our Glory!" as he raises his fist in a proud salute.

"TO THE EMPIRE! FOR GLORY!"

Firing the hand holding his glass into the air, Axis explodes in a display of revelry rarely seen from the seeker. His pose is one of strength, fists clenched, lips curled in a scowl of the reminders of Earth. And yet his optics still remain trained... remain locked... on the populous present. It is as if his look tells you all, cheer infidels. Cheer as if your life depended on it.

Bonecrusher raises his fist, proudly shouting, "HAIL GALVATRON! GLORY TO THE DECEPTICONS!"

Sure, to Galvatron's Empire. As an assistant hands Soundwave a goblet full of glowing pink energon goodness, he silently raises his glass. At the end of the day, Soundwave doesn't care who he is serving, so long as he is kept in the style he is accustomed to. But for now, he is Serving Galvatron, and when Galvatron says to toast, Soundwave knows to toast.

Long Haul sits ramrod straight in his seat next to Scrapper as he watches the proceedings. Well. Now they're drinking. That's almost as good as getting medals! He picks up the glass of energon set in front of him and raises it, shouting, "TO THE EMPIRE! TO GLORY!" he roars as loud as he can, the faint rumble of a dump truck's idling engine adding further force to his shout.

Swindle, with a quiet, amused sigh, leans forwards to take up a glass. Raising it neatly in his hand he nods and speaks simply and clearly. "To the Empire, and glory." It's a true sentiment, there's nothing like a strong base to put oneself in a good bargaining position, after all.

Fusillade's right hand slips forward to scoop up a glass skywards in hail, although the words she belts out in her clarion alto are hardly any different from the raucous chorus already bouncing around the halls. The requisite words 'glory' 'empire' 'hail' and 'Galvatron' are present.

Scrapper snaps off a formal salute, given that decorum suggests that he probably should. Despite the current mood, it's a bit difficult for him to get so terribly excited. His attention is more on what kind of surgery he's going to need to perform than on actual reality. So it's with a stilted paused that he says, "To the Empire. And our noble Emperor." With a sigh, Scrapper leans forward and takes his drink, studying it thoughtfully. Probably shouldn't have too much. Need to be able to think clearly later.

Ravage sits silently, neither toasting nor drinking, as... well, he has neither the vocalizer nor the hands to do so. He is, however, listening keenly for any useful stray commentary.

Galvatron nods and lays his cup down.

        "Indeed. Now, to business. We are here to present medals. Let us begin, my decepticon warriors." He lifts the first medal, walking over to Axis. "Lord Axis, my trainee, I give you first honor. The first heart of cybertron shall go to SINGE!" he nods. He pauses for a moment, before walking over to pick up another, "The next? Lord Scourge...you shall present to..." another pause. "SCRAPPER!" he waits for a couple of minutes for the mechs to approach, "As you step onto the stage, I ask that you kneel." upon presentation of the medals to their new owners, he adds, "We honor you both." he pauses for applause and, well, poses, before continuing.

Bonecrusher gives Scrapper a brief "I'm proud of you" smile. After all, Scrapper is family.

Ah, the best get served first. Just the way it should be. Singe stands proudly and after looking to spot Scrapper, tries to time his approach so he can arrive and take his place at about the same time as the Constructicon, in theory.More majestic-lookin' that way. He kneels before Axis and murmurs smoothly, "It is an honor to serve your Empire, Noble Galvatron."

Scrapper sets down his glass, still not having touched a drop of the liquid within, perhaps made easier by his lack of a mouth. He paces up to the stage, a short, ungainly mechanism compared to the others already there, and kneels as instructed. Scrapper does have to admit some unease, exposing his back and all, given the company, but he keeps himself calm and unexpressive, a feat also made easier by his lack of mouth.

Fusillade peruses the glass, one optic ridge arching before she shifts weight to rest one shoulder on one of the doorways. She appears captivated by the interplay, at least enough to not partake of the potent potable currently in her fingertalons. Every time applause rolls over the room, she shifts the glass in hands, before giving up and setting it down to free up her palm for clapping purposes. A particularly jaunty whistle to cheer on the recipients is added on by her for good measure.

Long Haul takes his sip from his drink (and no, you can't see how he manages to without a mouth) and then looks up as his brother is honored. He remains silent as Scrapper approaches the podium and then, as Scrapper kneels and the honor is presented he bursts to his feet, roaring his approval, right fist punching at the air. "YEAH! GO, SCRAPPER! GO, TEAM GREEN! WOOO!" Then he falls suddenly silent and looks around, shoulders hunched a bit sheepishly as he sits down and ducks his head.

"The honor is my ability to serve the Empire, mein Fuhrer." Taking the medal and cradling the band in his hands, he moves to the edge of the dais, standing stoically in wait for the Decepticon mentioned, Siege. For once, a smile, though slick and menacing, reaches his face that shows pride in his brethren. n his fellow Decepticons.

"Come, Herr Singe. Come in celebration of what dutiful service to our beloved Empire will earn you. For you, in selfless dedication, have earned that which you receive today."

Lowering at the waist, the seeker wreathes the medal around Singe's neck, resting a hand on his shoulder momentarily as he speaks to him in a quiet tone. "Rise, Herr Singe. Stand proud and always remain ever faithful, ever steadfast in your loyalty to the Reich and the Fuhrer. Congratulations."

Kneel? A frown forms on Swindle's face at this comment, but it is soon replaced by a more nonchalant expression. After taking a sip of his drink, he places the glass on the table and politely, claps his hands together a few times as the first medals are awarded.

Nonsense. If the best were acknowledged first, Ravage would be a subcommander by now. Not that he ever lets that bother him. Going unnoticed is his job, and he's very good at it. His optics shift briefly to cover Long Haul at the Constructicon's childish outburst; then snap rigidly forward again.

If Ravage would get a vocalizer installed and EXPRESS his displeasure...

Bonecrusher looks at Long Haul, not quite sure whether he should be happy about his enthusiastic joy, or displeased at him more or less embarrassing himself and, by extension, the Constructicons, in public.

Ravage has no displeasure to express.

Scourge steps forward to take the medal, then turning around to face Scrapper. "You have done all that was asked of you, and more," he intones quietly, "and you have preserved a member of my pack. That is worthy, as are you." He does the same as Axis with Singe, wreathing the medal around Scrapper's neck.

Galvatron nods to his lieutenant and his lieutenanet trainee. He then looks to the two awardees, "Rise, my friends."

"I present to you, Decepticons. Scrapper and Singe, show them the honor they deserve!"

He pauses for a couple of moments to let them soak in their praise. "You may return to your seats."

He returns to the dais and grabs two more medals. Walking first to Scourge this time.

"Lord Scourge, first honor comes to you this time. I present to you this medal to award to our next noble servant. LONG HAUL!" He walks over to Axis, "Lord Axis, you will award this medal to humble(he uses the term lightly) SWINDLE!. Rise, and kneel before your lords to receive your just praise!"

Singe risese, as instructed and after another bow to Galvatron, and a salute to Scourge, turns to face the gathered Decepticons. Accepting their congratulations, he returns to his self-imposed guard duty off to the side. For now, Singe resists the urge to play with his toy. That's best saved for later, when he's alone.

Ravage makes a note to spy on someone else's private quarters tonight. Someone other than Singe.

Fusillade finally slides into one of the tables, giving up on the drink for now. Unholstering one of her wingblades, she unfurls the grey and white span to polish its segments -- the first sign of relaxation from her since she first officially returned to duty. An oil cloth is pulled from any number of inscrutible storage compartments, and the femme alternates between the requisite cheering and clapping, and doting over the aileron.

Scrapper winces slightly at Long Haul's outburst but otherwise remains still. Paranoid dread and hopeful anticipation mingle, and when the medal is placed around his neck, Scrapper finds himself sighing a sigh of relied. Preserved a member of Scourge pack? Yeah, that, but Arachnae's also a very capable member of MSE. Scrapper may not always agree with her, but he recognizes her value. Whispering something along the lines of 'thank you', he stands, bows formally to his superiors, and returns to his seat to watch the show.

Bonecrusher briefly smiles at Scrapper again, then takes a sip from his drink. After all, he has a mouth.

Long Haul stands, using the table to push himself up as he does, and walks around the table. He pauses a moment until Swindle is even with him, and then marches towards the dais, chin lifted, hands loosely curled, arms swinging sharply in time with his footfalls, displaying more military bearing in this moment than most present probably expected him capable of. Too bad it is completely counteracted by his earlier outburst. Then he gets to his spot he kneels, ducking his head humbly.

If Swindle were a human, he may very well have choked on his drink. Axis? Oh, that's just /too/ rich. Beaming, he climbs to his feet and, Singe having established precedent, times his approach to match that of Long Haul's. He watches Axis with a keen optic as he approaches. Only a few days previously, this rather pompous mech had nigh-on accused him of treason and now he's been giving the task of honouring him? Delicious.

Turning back around, Scourge accepts the next medal, although for the briefest of moments his optic ridges rise slightly. Intriguing how he's presenting medals to all of the Constructicons, especially since one of his own was involved. Any words that might be thought about stay within his mind, however.

He turns back around to face Long Haul. "Your quick thinking made the retrieval of my wing-sib much easier. Accept this medal in the spirit with which it is given." And he reaches over, wreathing the medal around Long Haul's neck.

Swindle? Where on the medal does it say 'For The Smartest Mouth In The Empire'? Regardless, the Emperor has decreed, therefore Axis will act as if it was gospel. Once again taking the medal and looping it across his hands, he moves to the dais, pausing in wait for the Combaticon to approach and to allow Scourge his justified honor to serve the first accolade for this round.

BEnding once again at the waist to drop the medal around Swindle's neck, the smile broadens, the hand once again falling upon a shoulder as Axis reserves a few words for the medal recipient. "Congratulations, Herr Swindle. I trust your vocalizer has been repaired? Your service earns you this accolade today. Your efforts in matters of service, not public discourse, is what our Oberherr is in need of."

Galvatron nods, "Rise, honored warriors. Rise and be warmed with the welcoming honor of your brethren!"

"Galvatron walks over and picks up several medals, laying them down on the dais, "The rest of these go to warriors whose duties do not allow them to be here. Vortex, Compile and Astrotrain at a later time. But these two..." he pauses over two more hearts of Cybertron. "These two go to two Decepticons that have done much for this Empire but are rarely recognized." he grabs one, walking over to Scourge, "Scourge, on your next visit to medicenter, present this to your wingsib, Arachnae. For her bravery both on and off the field, in always preserving my decree." he walks to Axis, "Axis. Present this medal to Ravage, for his impressive actions in infiltrating the Autobot headquarters and wreaking havoc the likes of which they rarely know within the safety of their own bases!"

Scourge nods sharply, optics resting on the medal that Galvatron gives him for Arachnae. "Indeed," he replies quietly. "She has proven herself more than worthy of the pack. It will be my honor to present this to her."

Swindle kneels in good grace as the medal is placed around his neck, glancing up cheerfully as Axis speaks. "Perfect working order, I appreciate your concern. It is truly an honour to serve the Empire." Uncharacteristically, Swindle doesn't place any sly or sardonic emphasis on his words, deeming it inappropriate, even dangerous, to do so at the moment. But he's thinking them. Raising to his feet, he salutes, and makes his way back to his seat, still with that wide grin on his face.

Scrapper claps, with more enthusiasm than he's shown during the entire event. Hey, it's his brother up there, after all! His brother who madly craves recognition, no less. Of course, Scrapper doubts it'll stop Long Haul from complaining for long.

Revenant vanishes out of reality.

Revenant has left.

Recoil has arrived.

Following Scrapper's example, Bonecrusher also applauds. After all, it's a fellow Constructicon that's being honoured.

Long Haul stands up slowly, murmuring, "Thank you, sir," as he does, somehow managing to keep himself from jumping around, cheering, or anything of that sort. Instead he just turns, somehow executing a proper about-face despite his oddly shaped feet, and again marches carefully, chin still high, back down the aisle. Unfortunately, any impression of nobility or military bearing is ruined as he gets to the end and promptly trips, stumbling a couple of steps as he does. He manages to recover before he falls down completely and heads back to his seat, not, to the eye of the most practiced observer, embarrassed in the least. Instead, he's very twitchy as he sits there, barely able to contain his joy at the receipt of the medal.

Ahhh, an ever loyal Decepticon... Ravage, of every Decepticon present, there is but one that adores your innate talent and servitude. And that being is Axis. Turning to the crowd and quickly scanning it, a questioning look falls upon the seeker's face, which in turn shifts to his Lord and Master.

"Oberherr Galvatron... Are we graced with our talented saboteur's presence this evening, in stealthy standard, or shall I deliver it upon his return?" The question is legitimate, the wonder, genuine.

Galvatron smirks widely, "Ravage is here. Look harder, my apprentice."

Bonecrusher claps Long Haul on the shoulder. "Relax, and be proud of yourself," he says softly - well, inasmuch as Bonecrusher can speak softly.

Ravage stands up, looking - dare one say it? - mildly puzzled. He was just doing his duty after all. And most of the damage to Iahex was self-inflicted by the Autobots looking for him. But don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or in the big orange cannon. Without further expression of either pleasure or disdain, just simple acceptance, he pads sedately to the dais and tilts his head up at Axis, waiting for him to notice him.

Scrapper turns his head over in Long Haul's direction and nods. Why, without Long Haul's map-reading skills, they could have taken a wrong turn at Pikipsehex and all ended up stuck in a pothole. Pity Long Haul can't navigate a set of stairs with the same dexterity..:)"

Ah, a father's pride! While Soundwave is not one to gush emotions like the loud and brash Constructicons, he does acknowledge Ravage's reward with a subtle nod of approval. From someone as unemotive as the tape commander, this is a lot.

Ravage notices and logs it. Don't think he doesn't.

Yes... There amidst the shadows. Ever serving, ever effective, Ravage. Moving to the edge of the dais and steepling the medal across his hands, the seeker patiently awaits, his own adolation waiting just as much as the medal. A gentle slip of the band lets the medal rest around the panther's haunches as Axis bends deeply at the waist. His smile is a beaming light of genuine joy, one of a pyromaniac enjoying his first fire, the junkie after his fix. And he speaks, again low in tone, yet obvious in his praise.

"Ravage. The honor in your presentation is solely mine, mein panterkind. Your service extends throughout the history of our beloved Reich and your dedication waves like a beacon to us all. Wear this with pride amongst das bruderkind, Herr Ravage. And know you have my undying loyalty as well."

Galvatron smirks, "Rise Ravage, for in doing your duty...you did us all a huge favor. Nothing is greater than making the enemy make a fool of himself via your intelligence. You have done well." he looks over to Scourge, "Tell your wingsib that we honor her for her continued service and undying loyalty to my empire." Galvatron again raises three glasses, giving one to Scourge, and one to Axis, "Rise Ravage. Receive the honor you so rightly deserve. Decepticons. A toast! TO OUR HONORED BROTHERS!" he raises his glass and drinks. "Now, my noble servants. Drink, have fun. Enjoy yourselves. While we must take time often for work and rule, we must also take time for play. Enjoy this."

Ravage lifts his right forepaw to touch his head in the best approximation of a salute this body allows, then furthers it with a dip of the front half of his body to Galvatron. Soundwave might notice a certain sense of... satisfaction? running through his processor, but outwardly he remains, of course, professional. Although perhaps he *might* deign to find a bowl now. That energon smells high calibre.

Scourge raises the proffered glass once more. "To our honored!" Then he takes another polite sip of the energon. Definitely a bit of warmth to keep away the chill during his hunt, which shall begin once more soon enough.

"JA! ZU UNSEREN BRUDERN! SIEG HEIL!"

Tossing back the drink in a single swallow, Axis lowers the glass, setting it upon the assembled table and once again stepping to a place behind the accustomed officers. The beaming smile remains on his face as he views the masses of the Emperor's Army. A cross section of brigands, thieves and cutthroats if he's ever seen one. But to Axis...

There's no place like home.

Compile arrives from the IHQ Central Chamber to the south.

Compile has arrived.

Bonecrusher raises his glass. "To our honoured brothers!" The exclamation comes from the depth of his processors, given that some of the warriors honoured today /are/ his brothers and gestalt mates. The lime-green Decepticon takes a big swig from his glass.

Long Haul picks up his glass and thrusts it into the air, sloshing half the energon in the glass about as he does (and possibly spilling some on his brothers in the process). "WOOOO!" he screams out, rather than 'To our honored' because, well, he's one of the honored. Then he drains his glass in the mysterious tradition of all mouthless transformers, slamming it down on the table when he's finished.

Swindle applauds politely again, before raising the remains of his drink into the air for this new toast, joining in merrily. "To our honoured brothers!" This said, he drains the glass. The true joy of the day came not from these medals, but in the delightful irony of who presented it. Ahh, the joys of life.

Recoil vanishes out of reality.

Recoil has left.

Galvatron rises and starts to walk towards his chambers, "I will return shortly. For now, Lord Axis and Lord Scourge will watch over your fun. Please, let loose. Just don't destroy each other, or anything. I must ponder the current happenings and our newest plans." (IE: Player must go get beer.)

At the latest round of adulations, Fusillade does indeed give her full attention to those honored, and the summation of the event. She raises one fist, and the folded wing contained therein, gives a full-throated whoop, before falling back into sildence and crossing legs primly as she returns to polishing the blade.

Singe has not yet touched the Energon, though now that they appear to have been released to enjoy themselves, he crosses toward Scourge. "Commander," he salutes, "Do you have need of my services?" He glances toward an untouched pitcher indicatively. After all, if he's still needed to have what few wits he has still about him, then Operation: Kashnookered Sweep can wait.

Scrapper sighs, raises his glass for the toast, and takes a sip quickly. How did he do it? Ah, too fast to tell. Oh, this is smooth, and it's got a kick. And it doesn't induce irrational worries of a) stripped paint and b) spontaneous combustion. Setting the glass down, the level barely any lower than it was previous, he joins in with the cheer.

Professional. That's Soundwave's less.. let's be charitable and say 'impulsive' kids to a T. The Tape Commander keeps his from most of the empire, as always, but Ravage knows already of his pride, and that is one of the few he truly cares about. Finally, Soundwave breaks his silence, intoning in his monotonous voice, 'Excellent, Ravage."

Axis, in classic form, fades back to the dais, sipping energon and viewing the proceedings quietly as his player goes to do some other stuff.

NEEENJA! VANISH!

Ravage nods acknowledgingly to Soundwave. He was just thinking of Frenzy and what an idiot he can be, himself. He pads over and sits down next to the tape commander, resuming his watchful survey of the room from there. If his medal gleams particularly noticeably around his neck from here, well that's hardly his fault.

Commence partying.

Well, that's certainly an order that Long Haul can get behind fully. He lifts his glass to take another sip and... realizes that it's empty. Damn. He could have sworn he only drank half a glass's worth. The transporter turns to Bonecrusher and demands, "Hey! Did you drink my energon?"

Bonecrusher looks offended. "I did not!" He has, however, emptied his own glass well and truly.

Long Haul looks down at his glass, then up at Bonecrusher, apparently, in the process, missing the spots of energon all over the table where he had sloshed it earlier. "Then where'd it go? I know I didn't drink a whole glass worth!" He turns around and looks at Scrapper. "Did you drink it?"

Scrapper glances down at his glass. Good energon. Very good energon. Truly exquisite energon that has been barely touched. Then he glances at Long Haul levelly and notes, quite rationally, "Wouldn't I empty my own first? Just get yourself another glass." He gestures to one of the pitchers.

Getting quarters set up. Doing research on buildings that sing out, 'bomb me!'. Folding metal into ridiculous looking triangular menangeries. Polishing her wingblades even more. All of these ideas seem more palatable to Fusillade for the nonce, but the words of a superior officer, several magnitudes higher in rank, echoes back to her. With a shrugged roll of shoulders, she takes a quaff at her sentry point at the far table. One gleaming topaz optic twitches at the strength of the liquid.

"Okay, okay," Long Haul grumbles as he stands up enough to grab the pitcher then sits back down, pouring himself another full glass and, in the process, spilling a good bit. The action no doubt solves the mystery of the missing energon in the mind of any viewer, but not to Long Haul. "But no one else better take it this time!"

Swindle glances down at the empty glass in his hand. Good indeed. Smiling in satisfaction, he reaches out for a refill. May as well take advantage of the moment. He glances around at the others present, not a whole lot of interesting conversationalists among them. Ah well, just have another drink then. And watch the usual Constructicon antics with mild amusement, of course.

"As if I couldn't get my own," Bonecrusher growls. As if to prove his words, he wrests the pitcher from Long Haul's hands to pour himself another drink. "Better give this to someone who will not spill it...!"

Ravage dims his optics in the equivalent of an eyeroll at Long Haul. If he's just going to *waste* it, then Ravage is going to get his share first. He walks silently to the end of one of the tables, his aim set on one of the as-yet untouched pitchers. From some internal compartment (he's like Batman with his utility belt) he produces a longish flexible tube, normally the sort of thing he'd use to siphon fuel out of an enemy shuttle. But it will do for a pitcher as well. He rears up on his hind legs to reach, bracing himself against the table with his left foreleg, and pawing the tube into position with his right. Satisfied, he drops back down to his haunches and picks up the other end of the tube in his mouth, employing it as a makeshift straw.

Long Haul growls back as Bonecrusher takes the pitcher away from him. "HEY!" he exclaims. He probably would protest more but, well, he's already got some in his cup. But he does argue, "And I am NOT spilling it," despite all evidence before settling down and taking another drink. Mmmm. Good stuff. And it doesn't glow any strange colors or anything, either.

--      Compile is busy standing to the back of the "party" going over some logs of what is needed to be built at the Warrens, as he thinks of something to submit to what will be built there hopefully. He says nothing, but listens to those here as they talk as he goes about his work.

Bonecrusher sets down the pitcher. "Are too!" he loudly argues back at Long Haul. He would add some more, except he decides that taking another big swig takes priority.

Singe has disconnected.

Party time? Pass. Soundwave has work to do. Even during this, a time of celebration, Soundwave is on the job. With Ravage here, even while he's drinking, the Tape Lord is certain to pick up /something/ juicy what with the potential for people to overenergize and all.

Leaning back in her seat, Fusillade shifts weight to allow the bomber's tailfin lying on the midline of her back to lie to the side of the seat back. Drumming fingertalons on the table, she takes another sparing sip of the high-performance drink. Crossing legs at the ankles, the femme rests her heels on the surface of the tabletop, tilting gold-trimmed helm to peer upwards at the verdant hyacinth walls, soaking in the atmosphere.

Axis vanishes out of reality.

Axis has left.

Ravage is good at tattling. And his current position by the booze... err, energon... gives him a good line on some of the rowdier celebrants.

Swindle is undecided whether to be amused at Long Haul's ineptitude at the simple task of pouring himself a drink, or saddened by the criminal waste of this fine energon. Ahh, it's not his energon, anyway. He takes the occasional sip, savouring the privilege. He eyes one of the pitchers thougtfully, he'll have to see if he can sneak one away later.

"No I'm not!" replies Long Haul before taking another drink, once more draining his glass in a single sip. Ah, good stuff. By this point he's completely lost interested in arguing. He looks over at Bonecrusher and this time, in a cheerful tone of voice completely at odds with his earlier belligerent tone, says, "Hey, you wanna hand that pitcher back so I can get me another cup?"

Bonecrusher growls, "Let me refill my own cup first before you spill it all." He does so, then hands the pitcher to his gestalt mate, not noticing that his own hands have gotten slightly shaky as well.

--      Compile sighs as he listens to the conversations that are going on around the room, but still goes over the information on the datapads.

Scrapper leans back and toys with his glass, slowly spinning it around on the table, creating a small, sluggish whirlpool in the glass. No Autobots trying to kill him at the moment, just got rewarded for his service to his Empire, yeah, life's not bad. Still can't keep worrying about Arachnae, though. All those idiots wandering around in the medical bay unchecked...

Swindle idly regrets that Blast Off isn't here, so they could sit back and act superior, aloof and condescending to each other. And everybody else, of course. Ah well, may as well just relax then. With a sigh, he notices that his glass is empty again, don't hold much do they. Leaning over, he reaches for a pitcher to refill.

Long Haul pours himself another drink. Shockingly, he doesn't spill nearly as much this time, primarily because he doesn't have to snatch up the pitcher from across the table or anything (and the pitcher itself is more drained). As he glances down to fill his cup he spots his medal and is reminded. Oh, yeah, he got a medal! He puts the pitcher down, then sets down his glass, instead picking up the medal and twiddling with it. He got a medal! Cool! He looks up, turns to Bonecrusher, and says happily, "I got a medal!" Just in case Bonecrusher hadn't been paying attention. Then he turns towards Scrapper and repeats, "I got a medal!" Just in case Scrapper had also failed to notice.

"Yes, we're all proud of you," Bonecrusher says to Long Haul. His speech is getting slightly slurry, which combined with his normal growly undertone creates an interesting mixture.

Fusillade vanishes out of reality.

Fusillade has left.

"You are? Really?" Long Haul asks, something about his tone of voice indicating that he wasn't really sure about that before Bonecrusher actually said so. "Thanks!" he exclaims, sitting there twiddling his medal a moment longer before dropping it to drain another glass.

Scrapper glances over at long Haul and shrugs. In a somewhat distracted tone, he agrees, "Yeah. You did. You must be pleased." He glances down at his own medal. Shiiiny.

Swindle leans back in his chair, a distant smile on his face as he gazes reflectively up at the ceiling. Absently swirling his drink around in its glass, he nods contentedly. "This," he declares to the world in general, "has been a very good day."

Long Haul slams down his glass and then reaches for the pitcher, sloshing things badly at this point but, luckily, the pitcher is so far drained that it isn't actually spilled. Until he tries to pour. He pours the liquid, spilling almost as much on the table as he does into his glass, and then looks up towards Swindle, nodding enthusiastically. "Sure is!" he chimes in. Certainly, he doesn't have things like subtle ironies and what have you to enjoy. But hey, he's Long Haul, he got a medal, and now he's got energon. What could be better?

"Hey, Long Haul, you should give some to me, not to the table!" Bonecrusher exclaims. He pours the rest of the pitcher's contents in his own glass. Raising the glass rather shakily, he shouts, "To the Constructicons!" and downs it all in one gulp.

Having a medal for being... I dunno... a warrior or something?

Scrapper takes up his glass, hesitating a bit. How much is too much? Theoretically, he could do a spectral analysis on the energon, check out the tolerances and limits on his own components, and calculate exactly how much of this divine fluid he can drink and not get unduly sloshed. However, Scrapper is a) not into going into that much detail and b) it would quite take the fun out of getting that nice warm glow. Bonecrusher's toast makes up Scrapper's mind for him, and he takes another quick sip.

Long Haul looks at Bonecrusher, optic band glowing brightly, strangely not in the least bit annoyed with the fact that he was just yelling at the transporter. That is because of the toast. The dump-truck-former also raises his glass in toast, shouting, "To the Constructicons! The first, the BEST combiner team!" before draining yet another glass.

Swindle is too mellow to argue the point, and not likely to anyway. He has no problems with people expressing their own /opinions./ Besides, /he/ knows who the best combiner team really is. Not that we're all biased or anything. He quickly drains another glass, intending to get through more of this pitcher before some clumsy Constructicon spills it.

Bonecrusher Bonecrusher gets up - rather shakily - to fetch other pitcher. Returning, he plops down onto his seat - spilling a bit of energon in the process, then pours himself another glass, which he drains just as quickly as the previous one.

Scrapper takes another sip, because the first two were more than good enough to warrant a third. Then, he firmly points a finger at Long Haul and then Bonecrusher, perhaps the two meanest brawlers in his family. Funny how that fact slips his mind. Slowly, he intones, "You two are making a mess."

"ARE NOT!" Bonecrusher protests, jumping to his feet. In the process of doing so, he bumps against the table, causing some energon to spill. Irony is a bitch.

"We are not!" Long Haul protests, slamming his fist against the table. Then his tone goes from angry to cheerful in a nano, and he adds, cheerfully, "You need to lighten up, Scrapper!" He hands his glass to Scrapper, not noticing the fact that it's empty, and says, "Here. Have some more energon!"

Scrapper isn't one to nitpick every little detail. In fact, he once marked where to place a very heavy artillery component by marking the spot on the floor with grease. However, Bonecrusher and Long Haul (and the surroundings) are getting sloshed in a rather more literal sense than is usually intended. Scrapper pushes Long Haul's glass back to Long Haul - wasn't Long Haul accusing him of having stolen it earlier, and now he hands it around freely? Eh. Scrapper sips at his own glass and replies simply, "You are."

"We're not!" protests Bonecrusher, swaggering and plopping back unto his seat. Deciding in his now pleasantly fuzzy-feeling brain module that he needs fuel if he is to engage in prolonged arguing, he fills and downs yet another glass.

Long Haul looks around and finally realizes, hey, there's a lot of spilled energon here. So what does he do? Blame Bonecrusher! The transporter points at the demolitionist and exclaims, "He did it!" Then he points at Scrapper. "It it still doesn't change the fact that you need to loosen up. Drink some more, 'fore I make you!"

Swindle shakes his head as he watches the Constructicons bickering again. Question is, are they acting like this because they're drunk, or because they're Constructicons. They are indeed making a mess, the evidence on the tabletop and, oh yes, dripping onto the floor now, is proof enough of that.

"I did NOT!" Bonecrusher gives Long Haul a light shove, almost tipping over himself in the process.

Long Haul is shoved... right out of the chair and onto the floor, being a bit too drunk to put up much resistance. He jabs his right hand up at Bonecrusher, pointing at him angrily and then starts... snickering. The snickers turn to chuckles, the chuckles turn to gaffaws, and soon Long Haul is sitting on the floor, broken up by a fit of helpless laughter.

Scrapper clutches his drink a bit tighter. Why is Long Haul always trying to get him to drink more? Does he have shares in an energon refinery somewhere? Considering the current company, such a thing would be more likely of Swindle, but such common sense has never stopped Scrapper. Simply to be contrary, rather than out of his previous concern for his mental state or lack thereof, he replies, "I don't want to."

--      Compile looks at the bickering and he decides to go over and watch. aS he walks, he grabs a pitcher and heads over to Swindle. "So, how long have they been at it?" he asks the Combaticon. Compile takes a drink from his glass, as he watches Long Haul. He leans over to scrapper. "Any bets on who will start fighting first?" he asks.

Swindle glances lazily over at Compile. "Been at what?" He asks. "The drinking? Since the end of the ceremony. The bickering? Probably as long as they've existed. It's one of their more endearing traits." He answers with a smirk.

"But you will!" Bonecrusher unceremoniously grapples Scrapper and attempts to forcibly pour down some energon down his ingestion conduit, succeeding only in pouring it all over Scrapper's front.

When Bonecrusher does this, Long Haul just starts laughing harder, pointing as he does. "That's not how you do it!" Then he goes back to laughing awhile, arms clutched at what would be his stomach had he been a human. Once he calms down he 'whews' softly and shakes his head. "Sheesh. You folks with mouths never to get it, d'you?"

Galvatron vanishes out of reality.

Galvatron has left.

"What's so funny?" Bonecrusher aggressively demands, pouring some energon over Long Haul'

Scrapper, at this point, is just glad the energon's not stripping off his paint. Constructicon purple and lime are surprisingly hard to acquire. He twitches his shovel disapprovingly and tries to shove Bonecrusher away. Despite his ridiculous condition, Scrapper manages to note smugly, "See? There's a perfect example of the mess you're making."

Bonecrusher is doing is intentionally this time.

Scourge has disconnected.

"He deserved it!" Bonecrusher says, mostly because in his inenbriated state, he can't think of a better comeback. "Don't twitch your shovel at me like that; I can see it, you know!"

"Hey!" Long Haul exclaims as energon is dumped over his head. "What's funny is seein' onna you mouthed folks think you can force-feed onna US!" He stumble-clamber-climbs to his feet and makes a grab for the energon. "And gimmee that! I'll show you how it's done!"

--      Compile looks at Swindle. "Any bets on how this is going to end?" he asks as he sits next to Swindle.

Bonecrusher tries to stop Long Haul from grabbing the energon away from him, but doesn't succeed, probably because he's drunk.

Swindle gives Compile a rather more surprised look this time. "Not as of yet, no. This sort of thing can be quite unpredictable, especially with energon thrown into the mix." He turns his attention back to the entertainment. "Did you have something in mind?"

--      Compile thinks for a moment as he watches. "How about a weeks worth of Energo, that Scrapper joins in once the fun starts." he states

Swindle says, "Once the fun starts?" He waves a hand in the Constructicons' direction. "I'd say it's started already." While he speaks he mulls the odds over. Scrapper is the more level-headed of the group and, not appearing to have drunk much, is unlikely to join in. However, he /is/ still a Constructicon. "Half a weeks," he concludes, "and you're on." Those seem better odds."

--      Compile thinks this through. "So, for half a weeks worth of Energon, if Scrapper joins in on the fun that has already started right?" he asks as he considers this option. "Your on."

+gtalk I sometimes vaguely wish I'd gotten Scrapper first. It's a lot easier to raise stats in chargen than it is after...

Long Haul takes hold of the energon mug and chuckles slightly in victory before stepping towards his payloader brother, optic band glowing a menacing red, medal clanging against his metal chest with each step. Behold Long Haul, honored of the Empire! And here we see why!

He jumps forward and grabs Scrapper, holding his brother's arms down with one hand as he brings the pitcher nearer. Is the great mystery as to how those without mouths drink energon about to be revealed?

NO! For Long Haul (quite by accident, truth be told) blocks the way, completely preventing any Transformer who has a mouth present from actually seeing how he forces the contents of the pitcher down Scrapper's ingestion conduit. When he stops and steps back, the pitcher is definitely lower, but did he really force Scrapper to drink, or just dump some more on the floor?

Soundwave vanishes out of reality.

Soundwave has left.

--      Compile looks at Swindle with an evil grin as he watches the goings on, recording everything, and he knows Ravage is recording and probably getting drunk from the pitcher he is drinking out of.

Scrapper just about eeeks! as Long Haul approaches. Just about. The Constructicon does have some dignity. Despite his silence, his shovel does flick down in a cowed manner, and he tries to get up and away. Alas, Scrapper is too slow. Once Long Haul's away and Scrapper can again be seen clearly, he remains splotched over with energon, like some warrior emerging from a fuel-bath, so it is difficult to tell if Long Haul got that hole in one for which he was looking.

Then, Scrapper sputters, "Wha-ack! Erh... wha' wazzat for?"

Swindle nods. "A pleasure." He states. And it is, a harmless little wager, all in good fun. Swindle can easily afford it should he actually lose... and of course, no one stipulated that a little guidance was against the rules, should the need arise. Alternatively, a drunk Scrapper should well be worth the energon. He just wishes he had a recording device... hmm. He'll have to hit the security camera logs for a copy.

"I call it a great demonstration that does not demonstrate anything," Bonecrusher grumbles. He feels resentful at still not having found out the secret of how those without mouths drink. Surely, one should not smugly keep secrets from one's own comrades and brothers?

Long Haul tilts his chin upwards proudly. "I was showin' 'em how it's done!" Of course, he's completely unaware of the fact that he hasn't actually shown anyone anything (having missed Bonecrusher's remark), but he will have to be excused, as he is both dim and drunk at this point.

Dim is not the only thing he is.

Scrapper may be the modest one but he remains smug about a great many things, like his big purple wing. Another such thing is his artistic talents. He dips his fingertips into the energon dripping down his chest and runs it between his fingers. A bit runny for painting, but eh. Scrapper then makes a lunge for Long Haul, aiming to 'draw' on him with the spilled fuel.

Scrapper succeeds in grasping Long Haul, throwing him off-balance.

--      Compile comments "Well, its on." and there is a sound that is heard.

DING! DING!!!

Let the rumble begin.

"You're drunk off your aft!" Why do drunk people tend to accuse others of being drunk? Nobody know, but they do; and so Bonecrusher just does it to Long Haul and Scrapper.

"GRAH!" Long Haul exclaims as Scrapper lunges for him, stumbling backwards. He trips over a chair and falls on his the floor with a clang. "Hey! Whaddaya doin'! Stoppit!" Then he looks up as Bonecrusher makes his accusation. "I am not!" he protests. "I'm drunk ON my aft!" And with that he starts laughing again at his own lame joke.

Bonecrusher Bonecrusher gives Long Haul a disapproving "Can't take you anywhere..." look, even though, truth be told, he isn't very far from falling down onto his hindsection himself.

Scrapper trips over onto the floor along with Long Haul and just settles himself there, apparently unconcerned by having just fallen over. Happily, he sketches out an untidily dismembered Autobot on Long Haul's back. Well, energon as the medium certainly gets the gore and mess down pat. Simply, Scrapper explains, "Doodling."

"Well, stoppit!" Long Haul replies, trying to push his brother away. "I'm not art!" And really, that's a statement that few can argue. And then he chuckles. "'Sides, that tickles."

Swindle sighs as the bet is lost mere moments after it was made, they didn't even have the decency to draw out the uncertainty so that they could cheer on and encourage Scrapper. Ah well, it looks worth it. He glances down at Compile "You win, where'd you want it delivered?"

--      Compile shrugs. "I do not think it is over just yet. That was just the end of round 1." he says. "Lets see what happens, and if nothing else, I'll just take a quarter of the energon. That a good deal?" he asks

"Nuh-uh! Y're now!" And Scrapper wants to frame Long Haul and preserve him forever. Despite his shaky hands and inaccurate medium, it looks like he was trying to sketch a car Autobot of some sort, maybe one with door-wings... Scrapper makes a grab for Long Haul's leg, and then promptly conks out. Tsk. Can't hold his energon.

Swindle shrugs. "He seems to have become involved, but if that's how you want to do this then it's fine with me." Were the tables turned, of course, Swindle would not likely have the same attitude. "Ah," he comments sadly, "it seems to have ended with round one. A shame."