Some are born into greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them. Some hear greatness whisper in their ear, telling them what awaits them should they work hard and hone their skills.

"Hu-won, hu-too, hu-won, two, three, four."

This was not greatness. This wasn't even half-badness. This may have been goodness, as in, "Goodness, gracious, get them off the stage!"

Barely into the first song in their set, Cybertronian Rasphody ," and Bumblebee and Hives were having problems. One problem, mainly: their front man Bumblebee had promised he could have the song down pat by gigtime. Not only had he lied, he was bad, and he was drunk. A bad drunk liar. Drad lunk drier. Brad bunk... Gimme three sleps!

Megatron, lead guitarist, gave bassist Smooth Jazz a look that conveyed how deeply annoyed he was. Jazz responded with a look of his own that conveyed how deeply he would plant boot to ass if Megatron stopped playing now. Which was impressive, considering you couldn't see his eyes. Bumblebee would get booted anyway, so finish as much of the set as we can.

Bumblebee solo came. He blew it from the first note. Some well-meaning patrons of the bar began to throw empty beer cans, having discovered that no amount of inebriation would make this racket enjoyable. One was sober enough to still have good aim, hit Bumblebee right in the forehead, and the lead singer fell back like a wood plank, like a carny promises you those wood ducks will if you hit it juuuust right, no really, have another go.

Megatron sighed, dodged a ballistic EnerWieser, and waved his hands vaguely at Smooth Jazz and Soundwave the drummer to drag Bumblebee backstage while bar-goers continued to throw cans and jeers.

"What, leaving so soon? We just got the bottles in!"

"There's a darts tournament tomorrow; I need to practice my aim!"

Megatron bit his tongue, and merely said "We apologize for this evening. Thank you for putting up with us." Then he bolted backstage before they broke out the Coronas, and who should be waiting there but Iron freaking Hide.

Ironhide was a phenomenal autobot.. Once he grabbed ahold of his BFG there wasn't a crowd in town he couldn't get funky. Perhaps most importantly, he actually liked the Bumblee and Hives well three of them anyway. The rhythm section, at least. Ironhide eyed the unconscious singer, who had been left lying on the floor.

"You guys really couldn't do any better?"

"It was a last minute thing, since you backed out," Megatron countered.

"I said I'd help you rehearse, not that I'd be your lead. I don't do that whole 'rathle-frathle-rumble-death' thing. And I have a gig."

"Literally nobody actually says 'rathle-frathle-rumble.' 'Death,' yeah. But we softened up for you. Or did you think we did Cybertronian Rasphody for kicks?"

"Still have a gig. A band I know." He sighed. "You guys are solid. Just not my style."

"What, like, 'good rhythm and you can dance to it'?" Smooth Jazz huffed a laugh. The joke went over Soundwave's head, but he was the drummer and didn't notice, otherwise he would have reached up and tried to catch it. "We're not a bad joke, X. We're gonna make it, and we're gonna make it big."

"I don't doubt that brother, but you ain't getting nothin' if you keep that guy. We need to get you a singer so you guys can actually sing a whole song or two." He winked, to make sure everyone knew he was joking.

Ironhide piped up. "Rumble's Records a bot named Orion Pax dude can sing."

"How do you know that?" Megatron asked. Ironhide should have been blacklisted from at least seven times, by Rumble, the owner.

"Orion there gives me free vinyls when I say please."

Jazz shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Okay then. Throw that guy in a closet somewhere, and I'll meet you at Rumble's records in two hours."