At the end of the fifth cycle in which his new acquaintance had showed up at his shop, Tailgate felt that Cyclonus might be comfortable trying something a little more normal than just standing around cleaning shelves in his shop with small talk (mostly from him; Cyclonus was not talkative) making it all function as somewhat socializing. The wait had felt a bit necessary before he offered to socialize to that more normal degree, just based on some of the attitudes he'd seen from him thus far. He didn't want to scare the other mech off by asking too much (even if what Cyclonus might think was 'too much' may be what others thought was normal) all at once. Viianta was a good place to have awakened to the knowledge that different people thought different things were acceptable and nice and expected.

There were, after all, all kinds of different social normalicies here. For one, the planet was a melting pot of cultures and people and they were out isolated away from what worlds they originally came from. It was a lot to keep up with! Tailgate wasn't stupid. He knew that the first dozen stellar cycles he'd spent in this world had left him competely offbalanced. Anyone could tell him anything about what the world was currently like and he'd accept it. How could he not? It'd been 10 million years. He'd barely known anyone that old before. Rusty cranky mechs, maybe. That was the picture in his mind at the time. He'd been rusty when he'd gotten pulled out of that cave system. It'd been treated over a stellar cycle and left him looking as ageless as most cybertronians did for most of their lives. The point was, 10 million stellar cycles was a lot. A whole, whole lot to miss. If a big war could've happened, and then some other battles after that point, who was to say what else had everywhere? What manners existed and which had morphed? What expressions were still common and which would earn confusion?

There'd been a mech earlier on that had offered him answers and he'd taken them eagerly, hopefully, just overwhelmed with everything he had to catch up on and so, so very relieved that someone was so willing to help with that. The memory was more sour now. As it'd turned out, Getaway hadn't exactly ever had his best interests in mind. A nice wakeup call that all had functioned as. Tailgate shook the thought away. Point was, Viianta was full of all different people with different customs and different gestures and different manners and he'd been trying to get a feel for what this new mech's were like in the last few days. Since he'd stuck around, it seemed that there was an interest there. Being expressed through chores and general proximity and more than a fair share of awkwardness, but an expressed interest in remeeting all the same.

So Tailgate had closed his shop down and then caught up to Cyclonus where the other was on his way out the back door.

"Wait-" he skidded to a stop from running to reach the other and giggled (just a bit) at how Cyclonus seemed to step back from that speed in alarm. "Um."

Smooth. Real smooth.

Tailgate shook that thought off to and went ahead with his offer.

"Do you want to grab an engex? There's a few good neutral bars in this part of town."

For a moment too long, the other was silent. Tailgate felt that a good portion of that quiet came from surprise. It was the way Cyclonus's mouth would part, just slightly, that gave him the impression. It never seemed like an expression the culprit himself noticed he was doing, but Tailgate caught sight of it still. His face was still stern, but it was a little uncertainty or lost-in-thought and it eased that unapproachable stern-ness (Tailgate felt very little guilt making up words) just a bit.

The pause left him wondering if he'd overstepped after all. It had seemed normal enough, but who was he to say what was socially acceptable and what wasn't these days? The hunt to find those sort of answers had driven him to someone that had just taken advantage of his well meaning desire to find out what was okay and not-okay in this new world; after Getaway, Tailgate had just decided that everyone had a different weight for 'okayness'. That mech had, after all, weighed that manipulating and conditioning someone who'd trusted him to his plans had been okay. Most others wouldn't weigh it that way.

Thankfully, the worries were unfounded. Above him, the flyer stopped looking out over an infinite distance and instead looked down near (not at, but Tailgate found the shyness kinda endearing) his optic band.

"I..."

The voice was stiff as ever. Maybe even more so than it had been on the first day they'd met and talked. But it was speaking, stiff or not.

"...would like that," Cyclonus answered.

Tailgate's visor beamed.


He ended up doing all the organizing for it, but he didn't really mind. Cyclonus had wanted to do 'something else' (whatever that meant; Tailgate didn't pry for now), so he'd arranged for them to meet up later in that night cycle for the fuel. Of course, it was the company that was the real point there, but fuel was a good excuse. That much, it seemed, hadn't changed at all over the millions of years gap in time. Getting oil or engex was always been a common method of socializing; from getting to know someone new to enjoying vorns-old friendships, a can or cube was always an acceptable platform to chat over.

So he'd given out directions and the name of the place and the time he'd get there (after a brief recharge, to pass the time Cyclonus had seemed to need before being available again. A jour only at his recharge station was enough for him; it wasn't like one cycle made that much of a difference on a cybertronian) and a brief discussion on whether or not they wanted to rendezvous first elsewhere. Tailgate did almost all of that talking, but he was pretty sure they'd both decided to just meet at the bar itself.

Then there was a stilted goodbye (Cyclonus didn't seem to do waving, but he did hover after already saying farewells and that sort of hovering would have meant waving for just about anyone else). There was a whole lot of nervousness. Tailgate put that down to excited anticipation and a touch of apprehension- not for meeting up again itself, but at the idea that he'd show up alone there and have to deal with the rejection jours later after finally accepting his new friend wasn't showing up. That thought wasn't at the forefront as much as it could have been, which was nice. He'd much rather be nervous over excitement than worries.

Finally, after scrubbing off and making sure his place was locked up, Tailgate drove out to the bar they'd decided on earlier. No one was waiting outside when he arrived and transformed, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He'd just peek inside and see if Cyclonus was already there.

The bar was dim. That was a part of its ambiance though. A nice, dim place to go relax and get high grade. Or some different kind of overenergizer, if you weren't cybertronian. But this establishment was mainly a cybertronian haunt. Tailgate wasn't sure he'd ever really seen a wide variety of organics or techno-organics here. What he did see were a lot of decepticons. That was the thing about neutral bars; they tended to attract a lot of decepticons and that, in turn, kept some of the autobot population from coming in. Not Tailgate though. Because, as the people he had gone out to here before with said, he was dense. He just didn't feel threatened by any patrons here. But its overall dim ambiance and the option for booths rather than the bar itself, mixed with the patrons here, seemed like a good mix for Cyclonus to feel comfortable at and so this was the place that came to mind when Tailgate was choosing the location for their get together. That's what this was. That's what he was doing now. Getting together with someone. Someone he'd met by chance rather than got matched up with by one of the kiosks he'd played with before. He practically could buzz with excitement and happiness.

As he stood there with all this in mind, the minibot rather missed that someone had come up behind him. A sharp finger poked one shoulder and Tailgate's attention shot around and upwards. His spark relaxed after finding the culprit of the motion. Cyclonus didn't offer an apology for the scare, but he hardly seemed maliciously amused that a scare had happened in the first place.

"There is a booth, over there," the tall cybertronian used the offending claw to point beyond Tailgate. "It is ready for us."

Someone had gotten here early then. And here he'd half expected the con to wait outside for him to arrive.

Tailgate would've found the booth eventually just by wandering around, as he did with most of his dining ventures with friends, but- while he hadn't waited outside the building to go in and claim a table together- Cyclonus had apparently waited near the inside entrance for him to cut back on all that searching around for where he'd already grabbed them a booth.

And waiting on that booth's table when they arrived were a few items already. One can of the house blend of high grade and one funny looking twisty shaped cup with a curly straw sticking out of the energon inside. Cyclonus waited for him to sit down before taking the seat by the can and looking pointedly at the other container.

"I ordered during the wait," he started.

That much, Tailgate had rather figured. Although he hadn't gotten here later than the assigned time they'd picked, so there shouldn't have been much of a wait at all. Apparently, Cyclonus had arrived early enough to get seating and energon and Tailgate wasn't sure if it was suave or if the other had just been too nervous to arrive at the chosen time.

"Is this one for me?" Tailgate pointed at the odd twisty cup. The consistency and color of the energon within was not high grade, so it was probably one of the flavored default fuels they served here.

"Yes. If you want it." Cyclonus's brows drew together and he spoke again. "It is-...There is no reason not to order differently if this is not to taste."

He'd probably order a high grade to go with it (because if one of them already was going to get at all energized, both of them might as well), but other than that?

"No, I want to try it! I like trying new things-" he reassured.

And this- all of it- was a new thing. Viianta was a new world and Cyclonus was a new acquaintance and the strange drink was a new flavor of fuel and Tailgate felt ready for all of it. He'd been facing this new world for a few centuries now; that was enough footing found to stop facing it and start finding a satisfied, happy, not-lonely place in it.