The Diego Diaries: Clubbin' (dd8 366)
=0=At a club in Centurion, raging against the machine, tipping them back
A mob of mini-con mechs and a few femmes joined up with another group as they descended upon a club favored by mini-cons called Scale the Heights. It had climbing walls in the back. They settled in booths to whoop it up when a number of Watchmen entered the building.
It was amazing how fast and silent the establishment became.
They were a foot patrol which had been beefed up for the night. The game nights of all the sports and the aftermath of big negative events in the population led to violence, drunkenness and other forms of mayhem not usually seen at this level of frequency. It was cyclic and tended to tamp down over the following orns. Magistrate Court was usually enough. Those that were problematic beyond the norm were referenced to jail and/or counseling to get their gyros back on track.
The four officers walked to the bar and asked for hot drinks, non alcoholic. Springer had a hard line in the sand for drinking on the job and so it was. They took their cups and leaned against the bar to talk to Carston who was the head bartender.
He was a very square built mini-con with a good attitude, a powerhouse right and clear helmed idea of his people and their frame, their inherent attitudes built in and acquired over hard lives and no personal qualms not to punch them hard when they deserved it. He was also the kind of mech you would meet at the bar to order, then pour out your life story immediately. He was a regular stand up dude.
"How's the evening, Carston?" Patrol Sargent Sallis asked. He was an old time police officer who liked to mentor youngsters, teach them the tricks of the trade and was scrupulously fair and even handed. He never seemed to take it personally when a drunk or hot head challenged him, preferring humor to defuse things. He was the kind of mech that Springer depended upon as he changed the incarceral – punishment system meted out at the scene form of policing that had been their lot for generations. Cybertron was an excessively incarceral culture from time immemorial and changing those patterns had been hard to do. However, the community model that he had developed with his senior officers had reduced jailings to a level that the humans struggled to comprehend given the size of their population.
Go, Springer.
"We're good. How about the mechs who caused the riot in the game? Any luck finding the slaggers?" Carston asked with a smirk.
Sallis smirked back. The two had bumped up enough on his beat when he stopped in to warm up that they were pretty good friends and honest with each other. "We're still looking. We have about 38 more to go. Seen anyone around who might fit the bill?"
Both mechs turned toward the lounges to look at the crowd who was silently looking back, then Sallis drained his cup.
Carston grinned. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Sallis vented a soft sigh. "I hear ya. Thanks for the cup. See ya on the next round," he said as he waited for his kids to hand back their empty cups. With a nod, he walked out trailed by the big young cops who were learning their craft from a master.
Carston watched them go, then looked at four mini-cons sitting nearby. "I'm giving you a thirty second head start before I call him to tell you that you're here."
Four young mechs sitting at a table sipping beer startled, then stood up swiftly. With haste they hurried toward the door and disappeared outside.
Into the waiting arms of Sallis and his big kids.
4 down and 34 to go.
=0=Skwad
They lurched into a restaurant on the celebratory side of Kalis. It was filled with families and youngsters on dates but a booth was waiting for them as they found their way through the happy chatting crowd. Sliding into it, they gave their orders, waited for their beer and grinned at each other as they did.
"This is a nice place, Ratchet," Kestrel said sweetly. He was having a good time in spite of the earlier events. "I think Tagg would like it. It has a nice blend of families and young people. I love being around them. They are so filled with a sense of the future that was missing from Cybertron. Going to University has been a delightful experience for both of us."
"Where are you in your studies, Kes?" Bluestreak asked. "Are you pursuing a degree?"
Kestrel glanced at Bluestreak. "I am thinking that I might do so. I am interested a degree of mastery for Cybertronian Literature. There are so many thoughtful and engrossing books in our literary history. I find reading to be such a delight."
Everyone grinned at the big mech, a sweet natured slightly retiring personality.
"I think you're a natural for it," Ratchet said as he sipped his beer. "Imagine having a career where you can read books."
"You should review them for Styre's paper," Stealth said.
"He does that column about politics and local doings for the Autobot City Daily News, right?" Milie asked. "I do love to read it. It surprises me every time how many people I know that he mentions."
"Its been a great way to meet people, to go and interview them. I think a book column would be a real delight," Milie said as he smiled at Kes.
"Perhaps," Kes demurred. "I am not at that stage of my education yet."
"You will be one fine orn and you might keep it in mind," Stealth said as their food was delivered.
Nothing like second dinner to make things right.
=0=Riding herd, looking and searching, congitating, doing the thing
Springer got the message as he stood outside a bar watching several big mechs being loaded into a police van. They were arguing over who had the better offense, Vos or Kaon. It erupted into a fight and there was a call for help to get them under control, then arrested. Four of them were from the altercation, all of them big mechs who worked at heavy construction. It wasn't the sort of fight you wanted to find yourself in unless you were a soldier, a Seeker, a Primal frame or a nutcase.
Springer turned to the others. "We have four more, Darcy just called to tell me. That leaves 34 to go. Frag. This is getting hard. Maybe the little slaggers went home. Do we have any addresses yet?"
Hercy who had made the 'bagging' easier with his cattle prod put in the call. He glanced at Springer. "There's one. Its in Seven Cities-West, City 5."
"Then lets go when this is done," Springer said as he watched the last mech enter and the heavy reinforced doors close. "We can collect what we can there. How many?"
"One." Hercy glanced around. "That's it here."
They gathered up their horses, mounted up and began the cross country trek to City 5 in Seven Cities-West. It would take a while.
=0=At the scene of the poker party
They were nearly all deep in recharge where they sat, fell or slid down from standing. Hardie and Tagg had gathered up the mess and with Venture's help had stowed the good and recycled the bad. A lifetime of soldiering and making due in tiny spaces made short work of the clutter. Stepping over and around sleeping mechs, they made their way to the couch with a dessert and hot drink. Sitting, they ate a moment in contented silence.
"This is the life," Hardie said with a chuckle.
"I agree," Tagg said in his eerily familiar voice. "I am very happy that Orion let's himself go among such trustworthy mechs. He always was a serious youngster by nature."
"It was a pleasure seeing him when he reverted to a youngster. He always was a handsome and dignified mech. He's always had that look about him, the one that foreshadowed his greatness. He is my favorite prime and among the best individuals I ever met," Hardie said. "He reminds me in his manner and ideals of Guardian."
"That is flattering and kindly to hear, Hard Drive. Thank you. My son is my magnum opus," Tagg replied. "It was a blessing to have him as a youngling again, to experience him as a near child."
"Ironhide was a hoot. He was about the age when he graduated from the Academy and didn't know a thing about practical soldiering but thought he did. Your son was younger but then Optimus is compared to Ironhide. They were a cute pair."
"They were," Venture said. "Optimus is The One Who Comes. That didn't happen without a lot of parenting, Tagg. Its such an honor to know him personally but to have him as a member of my family is something I struggle to articulate." He grinned. "He was the making of Prowl."
The three snickered.
"I think Prowl was a very, very good influence on Orion," Tagg said. "The two of them are such good friends beyond the bond. It makes me … chuckle a little to watch how Prowl protects and advises him. I stand behind Prowl at most games and he sends Orion an endless stream of plays, observations and advice." Tagg grinned. "Orion finds it terribly amusing."
"So do I," Venture said with a chuckle.
They would eat food, drink hot drinks and chat for a while before finding a nice spot to settle. They would be the adults in the room this evening while the wild boys slept it off on the floor. The children would be asleep all night long in everyone else's comfortable beds.
=0=Outside in the cold, cold air
Ratchet swayed slightly, then walked to a cab stand. He waved the others over. "Cram it in. Let's go back to The Strip. I feel a dance coming on." He opened the cab door, stepped in and tripped over the step up. Crawling farther in, he was soon joined by a number of the Squad while the others crammed themselves into more. It would be a jolly drive to The Strip in Retriades once again.
=0=Jailhouse blues
The jail team sat in the lounge playing cards as they waited for more riffraff to be dropped off for the night. It was getting late and the mini-cons were steadily dwindling in number. There were 49 of them now behind bars from their rampages all over the colony. They even made it to The Flight Center, a large aviation themed bar that was a favorite of the younger set in Aerie Hill. A short and mighty violent altercation had bagged 9 of them in the biggest haul thus far.
Moos who was doing duty this night was going over the novel he was writing on his handheld. The success of Nitro who had The Bridge, a highly viewed and award winning series, three movies and two more series currently under production had been an inspiration for him to tell the compelling story of an amusing jailhouse intake officer and the 'funny folk' that would be hauled in for him. It would with clever editing and a few name changes to protect the guilty become a bestseller and the basis for a television comedy pilot based upon it.
Moos would be delighted. So would his Nan.
The noise outside indicated that new meat was coming so he set down his data pad, turned to the door and waited. You never knew what would limp, flip flop, hobble or thunder in these fine orns.
The noise came closer and soon five mini-con mechs and a femme with a brace on her little hand came in with armed escort. It would be hilarious, the nefarious lies they would give as their personal data and by the time they were escorted off to their 'accommodations' they would do so with the little femme whose teensy tiny servo started it all when she punched Drift in the leg.
Sweet little Marlis had her first arrest and if her Ada and Nan had anything to do it it, her last.
=0=TBC 02-13-2022
ESL
incarcerate, incarceral: (in-car-sur-ate, in-car-sur-el) to incarcerate someone is to put them in jail or prison. Incarceral is a system that defaults to jailing as a first resort or uses it in excess.
magnum opus: the greatest thing an individual can produce.
