The Diego Diaries: Stuff (dd7 53) Thanks for the catch, darling. I did mess up again. :D:D:D
=0=Diner On The Corner, The City
They gathered together in the usual watering hole, pulling up chairs, sitting at the counter and filling up the booths that lined the walls. Everyone who was available seemed to hone into the place like pigeons. It was getting brighter outside as the sun broke over the huge curving mound that was Mount Olympus. It was cold, the city was waking up, everyone was off three more orns and the semi finals for the two teams who would shoot for the first championship for basketball anywhere in the Cybertronian world were gearing up day after tomorrow.
Orders were given and everyone kicked back to sip their drinks and grin at the children. Springer and Drift came in late but took seats saved for them by Lon and Bezel who were good sons.
Blackjack leaned forward to look down the row of booths. "What's the word for the final count?"
"Quite a few drunks. Some fights. A vandal or two," Drift said. "I'm no end amazed that things aren't worse than they seem given we passed … what, Magnus? What's the count now?"
Ultra Magnus who was sitting in a booth with Arcee, Elita and Jetta considered that. "66,974,812 were the last figures I've seen."
Everyone stilled a moment to consider that. It didn't feel like there were that many half the time because the cities were spread out but it was true. They were giving 100,000,000 a real push.
"How are we doing with housing and amenities, Jetta? Do we need more sports arenas? Is the race track big enough? What's the word?" Sunstreaker asked with a slight smirk.
Jetta smirked back. "We have an entire cityscape to fill at Crater 2 along with starts in two other craters. All of them are interconnected already with highways, four lanes each way and when we finish up with Crater District 2, then numbers 3 and 4 will be given our full attention. We're aiming for 200,000,000 in the main planning thus far but can house close to 80,000,000 now if pushed when the two new districts are up and running."
Everyone stared at Jetta, then Prime.
Optimus grinned slightly. "It is amazing, Jetta, what you can do on 3 joors of recharge a night."
Huge laughter greeted that.
"OTIS."
Everyone glanced at a small yellow banded sparkling who was standing on Appa Sun's lap. His tiny helm barely could see over the edge of the table. He noted everyone staring at him, then smiled. He looked up at Sun. "APPA! I GOIN'?" A fat baby digit pointed to the table top.
Appa Sun put him gently on top amongst the forks and knives.
Orion smiled at Sun. "APPA SUN! I LOVE LOU! I, ORION LOVE LOU!"
Sun grinned. "I, Appa Sun, love lou, too. Magoo." He leaned forward and 'kipped' Orion.
That worthy grabbed his chassis, bent down and laughed with delight. Then he glanced down table at 'Otis'. He began to walk with the confidence of someone deeply loved, of someone for whom nearly everyone there was an appa, amma, close friend or someone with his genitors so they must be alright.
Right?
He reached Optimus, then grinned up at the giant mech.
Optimus grinned back.
Orion patted Prime's arm. "Otis. I, Orion love lou. Lou love Orion?" he asked with curiosity.
It was a hilarious tone of voice and a lot of the mechs and femmes in the room, some not even related snickered.
"I, Otis, love lou," Optimus said as he leaned down to kiss Orion on the helm. He encircled the baby in his massive arms. "I love lou very much. Come live at my house. Bring your siblings."
"SOLD!" Ratchet said to great laughter.
Orion was placed on Prime's lap, then sat back with comfort and delight. That was when food began to arrive. A lot of kids were swapped out, their food placed next to the relative and/or sucker who wanted to help them.
That took precedence, then Kup glanced at Springer. "What's the word on the slaggers from last night? What do you know, Ratchet?"
Ratchet glanced down the row of booths. "Everyone made it. Some of them have wounds that'll heal swiftly and two have to stay a while longer before going to jail. Their wounds were more serious though none were life threatening."
"Good. They'll live to go to prison," Hercy said with a grin. "Slaggers. I wonder who had the gun?"
"A gun was found," Drift said. "It was tossed away when the shooting was over and the Watch got there. Right now, we have to find out who it belongs to but that's going to be a bit difficult. The data was gouged out on the stock. A deep gouge. There isn't even a trace of it under an electron microscope, or so Sky says. Someone knows how to cover tracks. My guess is a gangster had the gun."
"Haro-n is Sentinel's relative somehow," Springer said. "He's one tough slagger. I called the jail and they say he's giving the jailers slag. He won't eat his breakfast. He slid it back out through the slot and it spilled. I don't have good feelings for these slaggers. They're getting arraigned this morning so I'm going to be there."
"Count me in," Lon said as Bezel nodded. When all the 'counts' were made, nearly everyone there would be along.
Breakfast continued.
"Optimus, nail down a rumor for me," Kup said.
Prime who was slipping Orion another tiny bit of 'bacon' glanced up. "What is it, Kup?"
"I heard that you're going to be playing football for Iacon this coming season," Kup asked.
Prowl's helm nearly fell off his neck as he swiveled it in surprise to glance at Prime.
Prime for his part looked as innocent as a lamb. He glanced at Prowl, then Kup. Shrugging his shoulders, he affected the most innocent of expressions. "Where would such a rumor come from?"
"You didn't say no," Prowl said darkly.
"I have no idea what this means. I just get up and go to work every orn, Prowl. I just mind my own business. You seem troubled by rumors," Prime said as he handed Orion another bit of his breakfast.
Prowl stared at him, then frowned slightly. "I'm going to be checking. Count on it."
"Old Deputy Dog is hot on the trail of the Deceitful Prime. It's a love story," Ratchet said to the great amusement of everyone there.
Prowl shot him daggers. "Loser."
"Then you are, too, since we're rooting for the same team or is that too convoluted for you, Ace?" Ratchet replied.
Prowl smirked at Ratchet.
"One more sports season to hate," Ironhide said. "Football and now basketball. There's no way to hide around here."
"How about joining a rugby team, then start an Australian Rules Football league, make a soccer team … you can throw a caber-" Hercy said before Roadie cut him off.
"What's a caber?" he asked because it sounded dangerous. He liked dangerous. "Is that like picking up a mech and post holing him through a hoop? I'd like to do that myself."
Huge laughter.
"Actually, this means taking a huge tapered pole that can be as long as 20 feet and weigh more than 175 pounds by the smaller end, then throwing it as far as you can until it flips completely and lands pointing away from the tosser."
"175 pounds. Sounds too easy," Roadie said.
"How about twelve and a half stone then," Ratchet said with a big smile.
"There's stones, too? Sounds like my kind of sport," Hercy said with a grin. He'd scanned the internet and knew as much about the Scottish sport as anyone there. He did like teasing Roadie.
Few did.
Roadie glanced at Ratchet, then nodded. "Mine, too," he said as he continued to eat.
"We'd need to make a pole that was about three times taller than you, Prime. That would make it just under 90 feet. Do we have to wear that skirt thing?" Kup asked Ratchet with a twinkle in his optics. "I ask you because you like to cross dress."
Huge laughter after an internet search.
A big smirk from Prowl.
"I still have my kilt and its a very manly garment. Of course, you have to have good knees so that pretty much excludes Prowl," Ratchet said with a dazzling smile. "I on the other servo-"
"Looked like a giant dork," Prowl said with a smirk.
"Wait until the game in two orns, wee little mon" Ratchet said. "I have more cheer gear to debut."
Prowl's smirk evaporated. "You're certifiable."
"You would know, Praxian. Tell me, Prowler … what exactly do Praxians do for team spirit? Math?" Ratchet asked.
Huge laughter, some small piddling defense from the maze of Praxians present, infants grinning at the crazy adults, then silence. Everyone stared at Prowl including the other Praxians.
Prowl glanced back at the Praxians with a frown. "Do jump in for loser."
"We're waiting for you, Prowler," Blackjack said. He grinned. "We figured you'd be our spokesman." Blackjack looked around. "All Praxians in favor of Prowl being our home town spokesman raise your servo."
Every servo from Hardie to a kid at the other side of the room in a berth who was from Praxus, too, apparently, raised their servo.
Prowl frowned. "So … you expect me to entertain the Loon just because you raised your servos?"
"Yes, son," Miler said sweetly. "We do."
Prowl wilted a moment, then sat back folding his arms over his chassis.
"Note that Prowl is folding his arms over his chassis in a movement of self defense. Obviously, he feels intimidated. Apparently, there's little to say about Praxus as a fun capital of Cybertron. Team spirit apparently doesn't exist among the humor impaired," Ratchet needled.
Halo stood on his lap bouncing on her tiny peds. Her tiny helm went up and down from sight over the edge of the table.
Prowl unfolded his arms to great derision and laughter. He glanced around with a frown. "Let me see … where did I put my duty roster data pad ..."
"Wiener."
"Bully."
"You can't answer the question?"
"It's kind of hard when Praxus is such a loser at sports. Now let's talk about physics."
"No. Let us not." -Prime having a flashback to the toughest course he ever took
Huge laughter because everyone knew he'd taken it and several said he'd be sorry but he didn't listen.
He was.
Sorry.
Partly.
But now he could at least understand a little of what Prowl would sometimes say when he talked in his recharge.
Maybe.
"So … what passes for fun among the humor impaired in the quaint slide rule capital of Cybertron, Praxus the Dull?" Ratchet asked.
Several Praxians unloaded on the quack from Iacon but none of them had much to say about humor and Praxus. It settled.
"Well, since you don't have a slagging clue how to have fun, then let me tell you about Iacon," Ratchet said.
"Oh, please," Prowl said as the Praxians smirked at the winged wonder.
He would never learn.
"Well, there was that time I was told my amma, Docker, helped the neighborhood burn down that bar in our district," Ratchet said warming up to tales of the good old daze. "They were selling banned substances so she helped them burn it down, she and appa, then beat the slag out of everyone who ran out. It was a road rage game from somewhere else moving in. It would have meant a gang war and no one would have stopped it but us. She took a crowbar with her but I never asked her if she used it."
Prowl stared at Ratchet along with everyone else, some (the twins and soldiers) with shades of IMMENSE RESPECT for Docker and Appa Ratchet on their faces and others with surprise.
Prowl, himself, looked confused and slightly scandalized, the slagging copper. "Burning down a bar is "fun'?"
"Oh, frag yeah," Ratchet said as he warmed up to the slag. "We tore the place up afterwards and that became our playground." He glanced at Prime and Magnus. "I remember slagging good games there. I imagine you two used it, too."
They nodded.
"There was a lot of fighting there as well," Magnus said. "We used to run in pack and take out the gangs and crooks that liked to come into the district and shake down the local businesses. We didn't like it. Remember?" he asked as he looked at Optimus.
He was grinning faintly as he watched the Praxians discomfort level rise a bit hearing how tough things were in the Jumble. "I remember. I had a few epic fights with you against gangs. We were a good team. We even saved Jetta from an epic whipping, Elita and me. Remember?" he asked her.
She was grinning at the Praxians, too, then nodded. "How can I forget? That was my boy they were trouncing."
"I wasn't doing too badly for a while. There were only three of them. They were trying to move into our block, the slaggers. With you and Orion coming in, it put them out of business before they could start. Ah, the orns." He grinned at Elita. "I do remember we how close we all came to the Youth Center."
Prime nodded as Prowl watched him scandalized. "I do as well," he said with a bead on Prowl.
"You didn't. You're not that … you didn't," Prowl said sputtering with surprise. "Ratchet, maybe. But you?"
"It was a different world there. The gangs were tied into the government and some of the senators used them to rip off the local business community. There was a lot of slag going on where we lived. It drove some to a life of crime and the rest of us to be fast on our peds," Prime said with amusement in his voice.
"Our adas and atars would have ripped us into confetti if we were ever grabbed," Jetta said. "It was a jungle then. I'm surprised all of us made it without a criminal record. At least when we were young. After the rebellion began, it was a different story for all of us."
The Praxians listened to the stories as images of young kid versions of the big mechs and femmes sitting with them appeared in their processors. They never had the same life but they respected those who did. Keeping your spark was as difficult in those orns as anything you could do. Not becoming a cynic, not falling out of love and belief in your culture, your city-state and world was a herculean effort but they all did it.
"Its a slagging miracle that any of us made it. It may not be the same and I don't presume to state that any of us at the other end can stand in the same light as you who know what real struggle is and lived to tell the tale of your quality to the universe. But a prison is a prison. That's what's plaguing the high castes now. They're still behind bars in their helms," Hardie said as several of the high castes with them nodded. "Even golden chains are still chains."
"Speaking of which, how are Keystock and Cargo doing? I have not been able to keep up on them," Prime said.
"Cargo fell apart earlier than Keystock. Both of them work for us and will continue for some time. They both have good skills and they've made a great deal of change. There's more we can help them with but we're well pleased. Now Rockwell ..." Hardie grinned. "The other two are making the changes and will stay with us as well. We have the four of them going out with others of our officers. I want them to really understand what happened from as many points of view as possible. However … Rockwell is mine."
"He's a hard aft slagger. What about those idiots last night? That Haro-n slagger. Are they going to be ours?" Ironhide asked.
"The court will decide. I want to rehabilitate as many as we can. Jail serves no purpose for the long term prospects of our culture and people. If we can use alternative means to help them find their footing, then I am up for it.
"Burris seemed a hopeless case along with Hobbes and Lucien. Now they are assets. I am ever hopeful," Optimus said as he patted Orion. That little mech was drooping slightly against the warmth of Prime's chassis and the Matrix.
"I agree," Sun said. "Prison doesn't help much beyond housing troublemakers if there's no avenue for rehabilitation. Prison doesn't do that."
"We try a lot of different things and we get good results. Prison is not our first step sometimes. We have bombers living here that have reformed. I have always held hope for all of us," Prime said.
"Soft sparked Autobot," Jack said. He grinned. "Good thing for all of us."
And so it would go for a bit longer before everyone broke it up to go out and do the business of weekend.
Win-win for all.
=0=TBC 8-3-19 (HBST!)
NOTES TOMORROW! :D
ESL
gouge: (gow-juh) When you dig a shovel into the earth and rip out a spoonful, that's a gouge. Its usually a pit that was made by thrusting something into something else. You can be gouged by a knife or pin. Usually, it means something is ripped out but not always.
The Scottish people have highland games and one of them is tossing the caber. It's so cool that I copied this from the Scottish Heavy Athletics page for your edification:
Caber Toss
The Caber is a tree that has been cut and trimmed down so one end is slightly wider than the other. It can vary length from 16 to 22 feet (4.99 to 6.7 meters) and between 100 and 180 pounds (12.5 stone). The smaller end is rounded off so it will be easy to cup in the thrower's hands. The caber is stood up for the thrower with the large end up. The thrower hoists the caber up and cups the small end in his hands. He then takes a short run with the caber and then stops and pulls the caber so that the large end hits the ground and the small end flips over and faces away from the thrower. The caber is scored for accuracy as though the thrower is facing the 12:00 position on a clock face. A judge behind the thrower calls how close to the 12:00 position the small end of the caber lands, 12:00 being a perfect toss. If the caber is not turned, a side judge calls the degrees of the angle the caber makes with the ground.
If you've never seen it, you haven't lived. The variety and creativity of humanity never fails to amaze me. :D:D:D
Me, whose great grandparents on my Dad's side came from Newpitslago, Aberdeenshire, Scotland a while back. :D:D:D