randomplaces | Nexus. Black Dog. Wrong turn.

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Nexus. Black Dog. Wrong turn.

It's a sunny day in this part of the Nexus. So much so that there's a white and black mech stretched out on the front steps of the Black Dog, his blue optic visor barely letting out any light as he blissfully enjoys the sunrays on his shell. Draped across one of his legs is a black Transformer that looks a bit like a jaguar. The cat-like bot is just as insensate as his living couch.

Past the steps, which have a smaller set running up the side of them for human size-range beings, is a shaded porch, where assorted Transformers lean against the wall or the railing and talk in a mixture of English and different electronic dialects. To one side of the entrance is a bench, and seated here are a couple of tall mechs who look like they could be different versions of the same person with their red and blue colour scheme. The two are talking quietly, the one wearing flames' voice a deep, quiet rumble whereas the shorter one with the big chin and the armor that covers more of his wiring sounds younger.

The inside of the bar is a mystery of shadow, talk, and music, and there's a massive black Malamute with bright blue eyes and neat white paws sitting in the doorway.

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Connor's made some wrong turns in his PINpointing, but this is a new level. He follows a few directions to the nearest bar, but this is pretty far from what he was expecting. It looks like there's accomodations for someone his size, though. He makes his way up the smaller stairs, and pauses warily at the top. Giant robots. He's seen some in the Nexus... at a distance.

And a giant dog. He's not sure if he should expect it to talk or not, but it looks like it'd be fun to ride... except that it may be guarding the door and he's not sure if he's allowed in.

His pause makes the dog notice him, and the dark ears perk forward before the big head is lowered curiously.

And lo, the beast does talk. In the voice of a young child, no less.

"You don't need to be afraid," it says as it pads toward him on quiet feet. "Nobody will step on you or anything."

Somehow, he's not shocked, but it's definitely one more tally on the weird list. The first response is almost a reflex. "I'm not afraid."

He runs a hand through his wild hair. "Just... wasn't sure if they serve my kind in there."

"Sure we do!" says the dog cheerfully. "We have all kinds of organic food..."

The big head is lowered and sensitive nostrils sniff at one of Connor's hands. "And whiskey, too."

He hasn't even been in the bar yet, does he smell like Scotch already? It's not out of the realm of possibility. Connor hits the bottle a little harder than he should.

"...Good. Do you... work here?" He feels strange asking it, but if he can talk, why not?

Maybe there's some trace of scent on his sleeve. This dog's nose is stronger than anything of Earth, too.

His tail wags as he nods his head, but then he pauses. "Well, not really work, I guess. My mom owns the Black Dog, and is the boss bartender. But Rhinox usually serves small people like you, 'cause he's littler and can mix the small stuff easier."

He does wear that coat everywhere. Who knows what kind of smells are on it. Scotch and sword oil and Kai's perfume, smells from the wilderness, city, and Nexus. Connor gets around. There's probably even the scent of Kai's dog, who is smaller than just one of this one's paws.

"Heh. I'm not that small." Compared to his own species, anyway. Somehow he tends to end up fighting even bigger men, though.

"You're only about as big as me when I'm in my root mode. Well, maybe a little bit shorter." His hand gets nudged in the same way that a normal dog would nudge it, though the nose isn't quite so cold. "Want me to seat you? Do you wanna sit on the bar, or over underneath of Archiva's plant stand in the corner? The bar's more fun, and the drinks come faster when you sit there."

"Whoa," comes from the white and black mech behind Connor on the steps. "Man, did I fall asleep? Ughh, Ravage, you are one heavy cat. Git off my leg so I can go home to Dancer."

"Shut up, Autobot. I'm sleeping," comes the grumbling reply in a very Russian accent.

Connor's around six feet tall, which isn't short, but he's got a lean build, especially after years of living on the fringes of things. "The bar would be fine, thanks." He pats the giant nose, out of reflex, because he's had dogs before and the gesture is familiar.

The conversation behind him makes him turn his head a little, to make sure of who's doing the talking. All the animals must talk around here.

"That's just Ravage giving in to his instinct." The dog wags his tail happily. "It's too bad Lumen's asleep, you give good pets." A gentle nose bump. "Follow me, and I'll bring you to the bar, okay?"

Connor shakes his head, slightly overwhelmed by the bizarre beings. He'll follow the giant talking dog, though, and can't help thinking it would be neat to have one of those at home to ride on. "Thanks..."

The big beastie does so, wagging his tail in greeting to various members of the varied clientele of bots of all sizes that they pass on the way over to the bar. The beings all seem to be the same race, but the technology of their shells shows several distinct patterns, and their sizes range from a thing the size of a barbie doll that buzzes the black dog and then flies off giggling, to a little purple being about human size who's talking cars with a long-haired young human man, to...

that towering forty foot black behemoth that's sitting smack at the center of the bar and intently doing something on top of it.

"The ladder's over here," says the dog happily, bouncing a bit and showing that despite his size he's still very much a pup. "Do you want me to get one of the drones to lift you up?"

"No. No, thanks." He's got no problem with heights, or with ladders, but he does have a problem with strange sentient machines lifting him up and carrying him around. He hops up on the ladder though, climbing up a few steps, then pausing to look down at the oversized puppy. "You make a good doorman." He likes kids, even four-footed ones.

Edited 2011-01-26 19:07 (UTC)

Pooka perks his ears, and then bounces. "Yay!"

The cheer is followed by a, "Pooka, Maximize!" and the sound of transformation, and then a seven foot or so bot who looks to be related to the ones with exposed wiring, and to the ones with animal kibble is moving to climb up behind Connor, his bright blue optics shining happily.

Out of sheer instinct, Connor tenses and lets go of the ladder with one hand, to have it free in case of... anything. The sound is unlike anything he's ever heard, and the result is... disorienting. He blinks, notices that nobody else seems to think anything of it, and hurries up the ladder the rest of the way. He's just a little disappointed to see that even in this form the kid's taller than he is.

Up on top of the bar sit a couple of round human-size tables with four or five chairs each. There's a little yellow bot ('little' being a relative term here. He's about thirteen foot tall at least) sitting with his head in his hands and a sleepy expression on his face as he rests his elbows on the bar a little ways away, and over on the main section of bar that big black bot is now shown to be decorating a smaller red and black one with flowers made of paper napkins as he lays in state on the bartop in front of her.

There's another bot that looks nearly like her, only shorter, broader, and dark green behind the bar, and this worthy looks around from mixing something glowing in three different cubes to call in a gruff alto voice, "Rhinox, you've got an organic at the little tables."

"On it, Nem," replies a deep voice, and then another cube of glowing stuff gets slid down the bar toward the bot that ordered it, revealing a husky green being of the animal kibble set. He's got a round shield on his back, and three little faces can be seen over his broad shoulders, their big optics shuttered in sleep.

One of the tiny bots clicks softly as Rhinox stumps over. "What's yours?"

He's a little distracted by the strange sights, still adjusting to all the weirdness the Nexus has to offer. For the most part he sticks to the areas where the beings are humanoid, just because that's familiar. This is the most he's been immersed in the culture of alien beings, yet. Still, he's traveled all over his own world and adapted to different cultures there.

"Whiskey. Scotch. Glenmorangie, if you've got it...?" Even when adapting to someplace alien, it's nice to have a taste of home.

The green 'tender adjusts the visor hat that he's wearing, then reaches back and uses a thick finger to stop one of the tinies from gnawing on his shoulder in their sleep. "How old?"

Pooka, meanwhile, has switched back to dog form and bounced down the bar to go wag at the bigger bartender, who clicks at him as she works.

"As old as you've got it? But a standard 12-year is fine." Of course, in the Nexus, 'old' is all relative. It could be from what's the future to him and still have sat around in a barrel for a few decades.

He eyes the giant puppy bounding off, mildly amused.

Rhinox grins and wipes crumbs off Connor's table and the chair across from him. "I've got three bottles of twenty year, and a couple forties. One of the forties is Earth make."

That's probably expensive, but it's just a little too tempting. He struggles with himself for roughly thirty seconds. "That last one, I think. Thanks." He flashes a weak smile. Now that he's got his own finances back he can more than afford it, but he hasn't mentally adjusted to being rich, again.

"How old can that stuff get and still be good, anyway?" The green mech turns and jumps off the upper level of the bar and can be heard rummaging around somewhere beneath Connor. He's soon back, carefully polishing the dust off a bottle. "And if I let mine age on Earth in Scotland will it be better than if I age it in my vault on ... another planet? Oh yeah, and do you want beer chasers?"

"Heheh. I don't know, most of us can only hold off drinking it for so long." He scratches at his stubbled jaw, and takes a minute to consider the other questions. "I'd say yes, but I'm a Scot, so... and... sure." Chasing it with beer instead of more scotch might keep him from going too far. Although he could drink a whole bottle and only be tipsy, unless the Nexus has done something to add potency.

"I guess I'll just have to experiment and see." Rhinox sets the old bottle gently on the table and sets a glass beside it. "Want to be my guinea pig? And do you want light or dark beer?"

"Heh. Sure, I guess I can handle that. Dark." He's got a ridiculously high tolerance, and testing scotch sounds like a good time.

"Good." Rhinox turns and jumps down again, then returns with two tall bottles of a dark beer that he thinks will taste good with what he remembers of the old scotch's flavor. "You want to start now? I can give you a glass of my forty home brew to taste."

Forty year old scotch, two bottles of beer, and an offer of an experimental taste test. Connor looks at them each in turn, ending with an amused raised eyebrow, gaze on Rhinox's face. "You trying to get me off my ass?"

The brawny bot snorts, though his crimson optics are twinkling. "I heard guys with your accent had a high capacity."

Connor's accent wanders a lot, in fact, more French than Scottish these days. Although the French have quite a reputation, too...

"...Maybe. I'll give it a try, anyway."

They do indeed.

"Alright." Rhinox pauses to reach back and touch one of the tiny sleepers, clicking softly as he does so, then turns to go down to the lower level and get his scotch from the stasis chest.

Connor watches all this, quietly bewildered, but curious. If he knew the booze was kept in a stasis chest he might be a little bothered by it, but what he doesn't know can't confuse him.

The stasis chest is only to keep the open bottles fresh and unspoiled. Scotch doesn't truly need that, but Rhinox is still a relative newcomer to the art of caring for the venerable drink, and he's been tasting his own work to decide whether he likes it or not.

He's not wearing the shield on his back when he returns, though one tiny bot, the little white one, is nestled in the crook of one brawny arm as he carefully pours a serving of his whiskey and pushes it over.

Edited 2011-02-11 03:44 (UTC)

Connor could give him some lessons, but ultimately he's more of an expert on drinking the stuff.

"Thanks..." He takes the tumbler and holds it up, breathing in the air over the drink subtly. "So what's the story of this stuff?"

"A friend makes me high quality, peaty young scotch, and then I put it in the same kind of barrels as the guys who make this stuff use. Leave it there the recommended amount of time, and then bottle it. Time jumping has its uses." Rhinox quirks a brow ridge, knowing that the difference in flavor between his scotch and the original is very slight, but wondering if it'll be considered good by an expert. What he doesn't know in his inexperience is that the difference is just a hint of smoothness, a tiny but still delicious measure of extra peat. In short, he's got something good going.

Connor takes a good gulp, but holds it in his mouth a moment, then swallows slowly. He's got a discerning palate, having tasted more kinds of alcohol than he can count, over the centuries. Possibly he's tasted a little too much alcohol, really, but he'd make anyone trying to stage an intervention sorry.

"...Not bad. Not bad at all." It could be improved upon, of course.

"But..?" Rhinox looks around, and then settles in a chair and takes what looks like a sippy cup full of glowing pink stuff from his belt pouch. He tastes the contents and nods, then gently offers it to the tiny white bot he's holding, who has been looking around for the past few minutes with big blue optics.

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Nexus. Black Dog. Wrong turn.

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