The Diego Diaries: Stuff (dd6 653)
=0=At a steak house in Gambian
It was silent a moment as they dug in. All around them the place was filled with diners some of whom crept to Prime, touched him, then sneaked back to sit as unobtrusively as possible. It always amused Ratchet that they did. But then, Prime had developed a sense of oblivion to it for their sake, not his own. He knew they did it but as ever, he made it easier on others.
The lights were low and the music soft. Good smells were everywhere and it was obvious that this wasn't just date night for them. The place was filled with young and old dining in luxury, some for the first time in their lives.
It was beautiful and fun.
"What are you going to wear to the next basketball game, Ratchet?" Prime asked with a grin.
Prowl glanced at him, then Ratchet. "Something that will embarrass us all, I'm sure."
Ratchet grinned at both of them. "You are such a grind, Prowler. Maybe I'll wear a corset with your name on it."
Prowl stared at him with a look of intensity. "You do and its Charon forever for you."
Ratchet snickered. "I won't tell you now but its going to be amazing."
"Iaconian game habits are so declasse," Prowl sniffed. "What is it going to be? A ball gown made of trash bags?
Ratchet laughed. "That's a good idea," he said. "You high caste slagger, you."
Prowl blinked, then took a big drink. He frowned at Ratchet. "Is that all you got? Insults?"
"No. You have no idea what I got," Ratchet said with a smirk. /… I better get something before the game .../
They dined on, had a dessert, then rose to leave. Sitting nearby watching them, Rockwell and his group were finishing dinner as well. They rose, then followed Prime and his party out the door. It was cold but clear overhead as they ambled down the street heading for the bowling alley.
Behind them, Rockwell and his group followed.
=0=A scuffle in a bar near The Sports Center in Retriarius
They rode up to the building where a number of individuals were standing around on the sidewalk, all of them looking angry. Hopping down, Springer walked to the group. "What's happening here?" he asked.
A tall mech turned to him with an angry face. "We were having a good time and these slaggers decided to make a problem."
A group nearby, tall and well made mechs with nice paint schemes looked as angry as the first group. Springer glanced at them, then the big mech. "What actually happened? We got a call on this dispute."
"We were playing cards at a booth near the back waiting for the darts tournament. These slaggers were at the bar," he said as he nodded to the others.
Between the two groups were waiters with crow bars. Both sides waited to tell their story. The Watch was called by the owners.
"They were drinking a lot, then started to make remarks. We didn't respond. We're Knights. We let it roll off our backs. Then they came over and sat down across from us. The remarks continued and we didn't do slag all about it. Its not the way we roll.
"One of them got up and spilled his drink conveniently on my brother here," he said nodding to a tall mech who smelled of high grade. "My brother rose up and that one," he said pointing at a tall big mech with a blue paint scheme straight out of some designer catalog, "punched his face."
"What happened then?" Drift asked as he stood beside Springer. He glanced at Springer. "Knights try not to get into slag that has no purpose. Having a drunk heckle you is not worth the drama and breaking the principles."
The big mech nodded. "My brother gripped his arm before he could hit him again, then the waiters came with crowbars. The bartenders called you and here we are."
Springer nodded. "Wait here." He walked to the two crow bar toting waiters, heard their story and it matched. Glancing at the obvious high castes standing nearby staring at everyone defiantly, he walked over.
"I'm Springer, Chief of Security for the Prime and director of the Watch. What happened?"
They glanced at each other, then one stepped forward. "I spilled my drink. They didn't like it so I defended myself."
"You threw the punch?" Drift asked.
The mech stared at him, then nodded. "I defended myself."
"That's not the story everyone is telling. You lot taunted those mechs, then pushed the issue. You spilled the drink on purpose and threw the first punch. You made an incident and now you're blaming the others," Springer concluded.
"Those fraggers are lying," another mech said.
"When did you come to the colony? Are you among the newbies coming through the bridges from the camps?" Drift asked.
They nodded. "We've been here for three orns," the puncher said. "It's okay."
Drift chuckled. He glanced at Springer. "It's okay."
"So he says," Springer said. "I'm going to have to arrest you lot," he said as more mounted patrolmen rode up and climbed down. "You're under arrest for disturbing the peace, assault and very possibly acting against a Primal directive about The System. I would like you to unload your subspace really slowly."
The mechs glanced around at the hard mechs standing all around them, then turned to Springer and Drift. "You'll be very sorry you did this," the puncher said as the group began to comply.
"Oh, now there you go," Springer said as a police van could be seen coming down the road. "You going and telling me that. It sort of sounds familiar."
Drift nodded. "I think I've heard it before as well."
The wagon pulled to a stop, then the mechs inside climbed down, opened the back doors and grinned at the scene which was their usual bread and butter. "Speedy pick up and delivery. Who's coming to do the data work?" Slater, a huge mech who did jail pick up and guard duty asked The Boss.
And The Other Boss.
"He will." -Drift and Springer pointing to each other.
=0=Outside ambling toward the bowling alley, King Pin
"I have to say that was a fine steak. I don't know how he does it but that reminded me of a good one I had in Vegas in pretender gear," Ratchet said as they walked to the door to enter.
"I am rather fond of human style food, though my Ada is a master of Iaconian cuisine," Prime said as he walked to the counter with Prowl.
"Your ada is a masterful cook," Prowl said loyally.
Prowl was sort of feeling it, though not drunk. None of them were yet and Ironhide was delegated to be sober. Whether he would was to be seen yet. Prime, himself was sweet. He was that kind of drunk … sweeter, gentler, more kindly than ever when he drank.
Ironhide on the other servo …
They got their bowling balls and walked to a lane to play together. Ratchet walked to the line, then smiled. "ME FIRST!" He then raised his ball, backed up, ran down the lane and sent it rolling. It spun backward all the way there and killed every pin in the lane.
He turned around, curtsied, skippity-hoppitied back to the seat and sat. He grinned at Ironhide. "We're going to kill this round. You all bowl and I'll get booze." He rose and walked to the bar nearby to get drinks and snacks.
Ironhide watched him go, then frowned. "Frag him. I'm going to have beer."
"I think you should, Ironhide. Springer and Drift can shovel you into a bin and wheel you home," Prime said as he picked up his ball. He grinned at Ironhide, winked at Prowl, then walked to the line, took aim and ran forward. Sliding like a swan, releasing a textbook ball, it rolled forward and knocked them all down.
"Bravo, Only One," Prowl said as he took a beer from Ratchet. "You show them. No one does it better."
"I see that you're completely sober, Prowl" Ratchet chuckled as he set down beer and snacks.
Ironhide grabbed some of each and turned his back on Ratchet. "Slagger. *YOU* STAY SOBER!"
Ratchet who saw his beer disappear into the grabby servo of his nearest and dearest rose to go back for more. "Slagger. If you fall down I'm leaving you where you lay."
Prime chuckled as he sat down and got his beer and snacks.
Prowl who was keeping score rose and got his ball. He would score a strike as well. Given their eons of shooting and the resultant astonishing hand-optic coordination because of it, they would all bowl perfect scores. They would do it for four games.
Bowling two lanes down and watching them, Rockwell and his party of slightly tipsy mechs had their own games going on. None of them would be perfect scores.
=0-At the Jail House (Now)
The wagon drew up and the mechs climbed down. Slater walked to the back and opened the doors. As he did, the mounted patrol pulled up and dismounted. Springer and Drift walked over while the others followed for the lulz.
"Get out of there now. Mind the step," Slater said as the grousing grumpy mechs stepped down. There were five of them and they weren't happy. But then, no one there was. They lined up and walked into the jail with the others following.
Lon, Bezel, Hercy, Kup, Roadie on his day off goof-around-with-the-boys time, Twin Twist and Splice found a wall to lean on so they could watch the floor show.
The youngling mechs paused before the desk sargent with Drift, Springer and Slater.
"Well, what have we here?" the desk sargent, Mojo asked.
"More wayward infants," Slater said. He looked at the five kids. "Answer the questions of the nice mech and we can check you into Hotel Fuck All."
The mechs watching laughed noting that human swearing had reached the jail house now.
The five glared at them, then looked at Springer. "We want a lawyer."
"After you're booked," Springer said.
"Name, address, age, occupation," Mojo said in a bored monotone.
The kid looked at him, then Springer. Then he looked at Mojo. "I'm Rudy of Capital City. My address is in the book. My age is none of your business. My occupation is-"
"Pain in the aft," Roadie said with a glower.
Rudy glanced at Roadie. "Frag you, fat aft."
It was interesting to watch how fast and how minimal the effort Roadie expended to punch the kid in the nose assemblies. It was also interesting to see him teeter around, then fall on his face.
Roadie looked down at Rudy without expression as the other four looked at Roadie with shock and astonishment. "Oops. My bad."
Springer looked away as he gathered the urge to laugh loudly into a file in his processor stem. Then he looked at Roadie. "That was a bit … much."
"Sorry," Roadie said blandly. "I'm not sorry, actually." He glanced at Mojo and the amused jail guards that were waiting to take them to their accommodations after booking. "I'm just saying so if anyone's taking notes." He tapped the kid with his ped.
"Never change, Roadie," Springer said with a chuckle. He looked at the others. "Names? Occupations? Ages?"
The other four would comply immediately.
=0=TBC 5-5-19 edited 5-6-19