It ended up being a pretty nice outing. The weird curly cup drink wasn't bad and Cyclonus didn't end up really drinking his own can, so Tailgate got his dose of high grade just from sharing that. There weren't too many distractions in the rest of the bar, so that didn't have to be worried about. He'd done most all of the talking, but neither really seemed to mind. Sure, he wished Cyclonus would talk a bit more too. Maybe talk about himself. Since, well, that hadn't exactly been done yet. Tailgate had no idea what his life story was.

In an effort to make that look okay to do, he talked a bit about himself. Not some of the bigger things, no. Getting trapped out of time, his run in with Getaway, how very much he'd like to find a place in the world- not really the sort of things to talk about so early on with someone.

The most he got out of the other was that Cyclonus did not live on Viianta. He didn't know where he lived or why he was visiting this planet or anything like that, but it did give him a bit of insight into his new friend. Other than that, he'd just said something about having ordered (and enjoyed) what he'd gotten Tailgate in the past when he was "younger" (something explained after the minibot had prodded persistently about why he'd just happened to get the weird fun cup thing otherwise at random) (the comment had the side effect of revealing that Cyclonus- though he may be visiting the planet on an impermanent basis- had been here at least once before). The rest was small talk done all by Tailgate while Cyclonus judged some of those small talk topics as useless and earned responses erring on the defensive (but things couldn't have been expected to go with completely perfect agreeance), or else just sat quietly listening with seemingly interest.

When they'd finished and walked out of the bar together, the decepticon had asked about how crime was during the planet's dark cycle. Tailgate had asked, after answering, where the other was staying (just in case he was worried about himself and wanted to hear a native's assurance). No answer had been offered. No escort had been either, maybe because Tailgate had said crime wasn't really too bad at any part of the cycle. So that was it, then. A little awkward, a bit too much one-sided conversations, but really quite fun overall. Nice. It'd been nice.

Tailgate was practically dancing by the time he'd transformed and stepped into his place again.

Maybe just nice had been a bit of an understatement.


There were three more outings (they'd all been nice too, even if Cyclonus still wasn't offering much vocally even by that last of those) before the cycle came that brought reality back around. Really, Tailgate should have seen it coming ever since finding out that Cyclonus didn't live here on Viianta. If he was just here as a tourist, well. Tourists left to go back to their own homes. That was kinda the point.

Still, it felt kinda abrupt when it actually did happen. Cyclonus had been in his shop standing around for a while before he'd spoke up. Since normally he didn't speak up until the shift ended or similar, Tailgate had been a bit taken off guard. Still, no one was shopping at the moment and probably wouldn't be. It wasn't a busy part of the week. So he'd just glanced over with interest from where he lay on top of his front desk when Cyclonus started talking.

"It was nice to meet you."

It felt a little out of the blue, but that seemed like the mech's style. Not on purpose, but he wasn't really great at saying the typical social things any more than he seemed to grasp social cues.

Tailgate flipped his head off the edge of the desk and looked at the tall purple mech upside down.

"Yeah, I'm glad I met you too!" he agreed.

But why say it so...

Tailgate froze, visor shrinking tighter. "Um."

With whatever weird form of conversation this was, Cyclonus was smooth in replying to the unspoken question the minibot hadn't even put to words in his own head.

"This is my last cycle on Viianta," the mech said flatly, glancing away from Tailgate's visor to look ahead at a wall instead. "I must return."

What to?

Where to?

Really, why did he know absolutely nothing about the person he'd so recently befriended?

"Return...where?" Tailgate asked even as he flipped right-side up and looked closer at the other. "Can you tell me just something about whatever you do as a job?"

The pause that followed left him pretty sure that, no, Cyclonus couldn't. Or wouldn't.

But then the mech had looked off to the transparent shop doorway and relaxed a tense jaw just enough to speak.

"Away," he vaguely answered the first of two questions. "Towards the decepticon empire, or the unmitigated territory they call such. I've a duty to a commitment made to a small group and shall continue to have it until I am no longer their allies."

He wasn't sure if this first admittance of working with decepticons was worded so convolutedly because Cyclonus himself did not feel attached to the faction or if it was out of guilt or worry that Tailgate would react adversely to hear such attachment and so he played aloof.

Tailgate himself had (in his opinion) far more important things to think about than confirmation that the warbuild was allied with the predominantly warbuild run faction that apparently came to infamy during his millions of years stuck in a cave. It'd been so easy to assume the other was a decepticon from the moment he'd looked up over spilled crates into the towering red optics far above. Assuming wasn't fair, but it'd happened anyways and he'd never really cared if his new friend was part of any army or not. That was the spark of the matter. He didn't care about that. Right now, he still didn't. He cared about an abrupt goodbye (because that's what this was; that was clearly what this convoluted approach to a farewell was. He was more than a little peeved that Cyclonus couldn't have given more warning about this; he was apprehensive of how, in a few jours when the other was gone, he'd start really grasping that the fun little stilted conversations and helper in the shop and engex dates were gone).

So he changed subjects from the topic Cyclonus had actually given a little personal information about himself up for and tried to figure out what normally came next when someone had to leave for a while (he hated how aware he was of how he was desperately hoping that this was just for a while rather than permanent; not just a fun thing to have occurred that ended briefly and faded into nothing but a forgotten memory rather than some important life changing continuation, like so many other things seemed to do in his life). Ah! Right. Share contact info and plan, however vaguely, to meet again. If he hadn't been so thrown off by how abrupt this was, he'd have remembered that easier.

"Do you have a comm?" Tailgate spoke up.

The look Cyclonus shot him almost left him laughing. Had he not heard of personal comms before? It was like he came from another world entirely; some place where there was hesitation and strong silence and apparently people didn't just call each other for friendly chats.

"Like a side comm, not a work or faction line. I can give you mine and then we can chat!"

The other's mouth became a tight line. What, did he find that risque or something?

"Chat?" the mech repeated back to him.

Yeah. Chatting. Pretty average stuff.

Tailgate once again fought down a giggle.

"Here." The minibot plopped off the desk and padded over to the knee height on the other. "I could send a short-distance frequency your way that'd give you mine. Then you just respond with your own and then we'd both be able to do it from all over the galaxy."

This time, the expression he earned didn't make him want to laugh at all. It was somber, but surprised. Like the flier hadn't been expecting to get confirmation that someone he'd been loitering around with for cycles now was actually interested in staying connected. It made him a little sad to see and a little happy as well, since he'd be disproving such a sad notion. What a weird combo. Life tended to hit him with a lot of weird combos.

Tailgate set a servo on purple plating and kept his head tilted way back to look into those ruby optics.

"Can I give mine to you?"

Cyclonus accepted.


The next cycle, Tailgate got to work knowing that there'd be no loitering around or carrying extra boxes done on the part of someone he'd so recently met. It wasn't nice. There hadn't even been a chance to go off to whatever ship lot Cyclonus was leaving from and say a real goodbye. Cyclonus had left sometime within the recharge cycle and had replied to Tailgate's written comm asking which lot his spaceship was at with a short message informing him that he was already offplanet. He felt rather more irritable than normal while setting everything up to open the shop and moved for his chair without any of the excess energy he normally had. If that chair wanted to drag him in and strap him down into its eternal depths, he didn't think he'd care. Such was his mood until he actually had made to get on the chair itself.

When he slumped down behind his desk at the start of the next shift, Tailgate noticed something a bit out of place on top of the cluttered surface. Or...not so much out of place as it was in this place: an item added rather than shifted around.

The minibot reached out and pulled a blank tablet (and the data stick laying on top of it) over his way until it dropped from the edge of the desk to plop in his lap. He picked up the stick first, looking at it front to back and then back to the front again. Huh. Well, he didn't exactly recognize it but it would be easy to port into or to stick it on the second mystery surprise. Speaking of that, Tailgate set the data stick back on the desk gently and poked at the tablet instead.

It was a pretty plain thing and he found it empty inside when he onlined it. Empty sans one item, at least. No files, no downloads, to programs to plug into; just one short note.

Of course it was short. Cyclonus was always short with his words. This even felt like it was more words all at once than had been spoken during the few cycles he'd been here.

All it said was that there were some old poems and stories on the datastick that had come from many a bygone era before. All were roughly translated, though the original scripts were still there too (not that Tailgate could read them, probably; he may have come from a long time ago before his accident, but he wasn't borderline prehistoric). It was cool, no matter if he'd have to stick to translations. It was obviously a gift. A gift was typically decided on by the giver through A- caring enough about the receiving end to try to find something they'd like and B- being familiar enough with the gift to know whether it met that first criterion. If they were familiar with the options before choosing one to give away, that was a look vice versa into their own life experiences: experiences that had led them to familiarizing themselves with the options in the first place.

In better and easier words, Tailgate had a pretty good idea that Cyclonus hadn't just grabbed a random thing that he knew nothing about to drop off here. This was something that had been prepped, thought over. It may just be something that the quieter mech liked himself.

The singular line in the message pointing special attention to one of the enclosed tales seemed like evidence for this growing suspicion. Even if he hadn't written it explicitly, Tailgate had a feeling Cyclonus had intended to say this is one of my favorites or something along those lines. Or maybe he hadn't even consciously been meaning to say it, but the minibot doubted special attention had been given to some story that the other detested and wished only to inflict as shared misery on someone else. That just wasn't very likely, was it.

During their outings, Tailgate had been the one to do most of the chatting. The vocal talking, at least. But Cyclonus had let some of his own comments or opinions slip through. His tastes in engex based on what got ordered, his apathy for his job, his unhappiness leaving Viianta to return to it, his favorite books...Not said outright, of course, but... that silent conversation had a charm of its own, didn't it?